New Beginnings
by SeveralSunlitDays7
Summary: Harry and friends return to Hogwarts for an eighth year. Things have changed, for the better or worse, no one can tell. What happens when Gryffindors are placed in a dorm with Slytherins? Will friendships form? Or will everyone be left divided? COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I only wished I owned this.

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><p>Harry Potter leaned his head against the window.<p>

"I'll catch you later Harry," said Hermione as she and Ron left the compartment. Harry only grunted in reply. Hermione was Head Girl this year, and Ron a prefect, in their eighth year at Hogwarts. The War against Voldemort had ended barely five months ago, and here they were, trying to fit into an old routine, to pretend that nothing had changed, that everything was normal.

But everything _wasn't_ normal. At least, not according to Harry. People had died. Friends had died. Their lives cut short, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Colin Creevey. Sirius and his parents. Harry knew he would always remember them, those willing to sacrifice their lives for a better world.

Since May, Harry had been busy. He had assisted the new Headmistress McGonagall in the rebuilding of Hogwarts over the last few months, making sure it was ready for September 1st, the start of a new school year. He had been all over England, giving memorial speeches, and attending funerals of those who were lost. He had been to all the Ministry trials for the captured Death Eaters, whether he participated in the trials or not.

Harry had worked tirelessly, showing the Wizarding World the Saviour he was. He knew, however, that this was not the reason. He was doing it for those remembered, those lost. He even exonerated Snape, after his death, and insisted he be given a proper funeral. Harry was one of the only people there, but it was the effort that counted.

Harry looked up and grinned as the compartment door slid open, revealing his girlfriend Ginny, and Neville and Luna. He shuffled over and Ginny plonked down next to him, Neville and Luna opposite.

Ginny smirked, an evil glint in her eye. "Poor diddums all on his ownsome?"

Harry grinned back and wrapped his hand around hers.

"What do you think it will be like?" Neville asked, "Going back, I mean."

"Everything's changed, Neville, we aren't going back. We're moving on." Harry shrugged. They all knew this year would be different. It was an eighth year, after all. The muggle-borns had come out of hiding, and not everyone was returning. Not everyone _could_ return.

"Yeah, well..." Ginny sighed and laid her head on Harry's shoulder. "I wonder where you guys will be staying? There won't be room in all the Houses, because there still has to be room for all the first years to board as well."

"Daddy says there's an abandoned tower out in the Forbidden Forest, maybe that's where you'll be staying," came Luna's dreamy voice from behind a copy of _The Quibbler._

"I sincerely hope that isn't the case." Neville said with a shudder.

Harry shot him a look of surprise. "Oh come on Neville, you stood up to the Carrows all year, and to Voldemort in May, and you're scared of the Forest?"

"Yeah but they were only people. In the forest there are acromantula. And other unknown dangerous stuff."

Harry gave a laugh. "Oh Neville, what will we ever do with you?"

The conversation moved around for a while, onto lighter subjects like Quidditch and school classes. Harry had again been given Quidditch Captain, even though he knew McGonagall knew he could have done without the extra attention.

Finally, with a loud noise and a bang, Ron and Hermione came back to their compartment.

"Guess who's Head Boy?" Ron asked the now crowded compartment.

Everyone simply stared, waiting for a reply. With a look of annoyance, Ron opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say so much as a squeak, Hermione beat him to it.

"Ernie Macmillan!"

Amidst the exclamations, Ron huffed and wriggled himself down to sit between Harry and Ginny. "Not while I'm around, little sister."

"Don't you dare Ron, or you're face will be plastered with bat-bogeys before you can say 'Quidditch'!"

Ron shrugged and pulled a sandwich out of his pocket.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, "we'll be at Hogwarts in an hour, you four had better get your robes on."

When the train arrived at Hogsmead Station, it was a relief to all to hear the familiar bellow of Hagrid, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

Harry beamed at Hagrid and received a hearty wave in return, before he left with the nervous first years. His grin soon turned into a grimace, as all too soon, heads began to turn his way. Whispers yet again followed him wherever he went, only this time, it was so much worse.

He turned his head sharply, a sick taste in his mouth. He approached the carriages quickly, with his friends in tow, only stopping when he heard several loud intakes of breath. He turned around to see Ron and Hermione staring directly at what he heard been able to see since fifth year. The thestrals. Harry read such a wide range of emotions on Hermione's face: shock, fear, sadness. Understanding and grief. Ron had a similar expression, however his eyes seemed distant. Harry knew his best friend was reliving the last moments of his brother's life.

"Oh Harry..." Hermione said quietly. She looked at him, and then walked over to Ron, holding him tight. Slowly the both followed Neville and Luna onto the carriage.

Harry felt a hand slip into his. "They really are beautiful in their own way, aren't they?" Ginny murmured softly. Harry briefly wondered who she had seen die, but then decided it didn't really matter. It wasn't a war if you didn't see people die, good or bad, friend or foe.

He leant over and kissed her forehead, then dragged her onto the carriage.

The journey to Hogwarts was a short one, but it was filled with silence. Seeing the thestrals was an undeniable fact that the war had happened, that not everyone would come back.

As they rounded a bend in the track, the group got their first glimpse of Hogwarts. There really wasn't much of a change to its physical appearance, after all, it was a castle, but everyone could sense the change. It seemed... weary.

Overall, the ride to the castle wasn't very pleasant. It was filled with depressed silences and faraway glances, as many remembered what had happened the last time so many people were here.

Out the carriages, across the lawns, up the steps and into the Great Hall with hundreds of other students. Subject to long glances, and whispers behind hands. Even Harry's friends were finally getting a dose of his fame, although it was to do with their involvement in the war, not Harry's presence, thankfully.

Someone shoved into Harry's back, forcing him almost to the ground. "Move it Potter," someone snarled. Harry turned around to see Malfoy swaggering off, and shrugged. He wasn't going to rise to Malfoy's bait.

Ron grimaced. "Stupid ferret. You'd think the war took him down a few pegs. Blast whoever testified at his trial."

Harry stayed quiet. He didn't want to fight with Malfoy this year. I mean, really, what was the point?

They all headed off to the Gryffindor table, waving to Luna as she left for her own table.

Mere moments later, the doors burst open, McGonagall striding through, leading the straggling first years as they made their way towards the dirty old patched hat sitting on a stool at the front of the room.

The first years looked around, tiny and nervous. Some found Harry and stared unabashedly, until he returned the stares with daggers. He didn't even notice the Sorting Hat had begun its singing, and Harry didn't bother listening.

Eventually the Sorting started. Harry cheered along with the rest of his table as the first Gryffindor was Sorted, a tiny black haired girl called Mary Addison. After that, he paid even less attention.

At first he scanned the room, but his gaze slowed as he registered the differences. For a start, there were at least three new staff members he didn't recognise, but that wasn't a surprise. Defence Against the Dark Arts had to be filled, as well as Muggle Studies, as those were taught last year by the notorious Death Eater siblings, Alecto and Amycus Carrow. And as McGonagall was now headmistress, her previous post of Transfiguration teacher had to be filled.

Over at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was talking softly to Goyle. At the Ravenclaw table, Luna was also receiving open stares, however she remained astutely oblivious, her head buried in _The Quibbler_. The Hufflepuffs watched the Sorting avidly. At his own table, Harry recognised many faces, and many he didn't. He felt a pang in his stomach as he saw Lavender Brown, her head bowed and her forehead creased. Her once beautiful face was marred with scars, a reminder to the fate she was almost subjected to, namely the werewolf Fenrir Greyback, in the Final battle. He watched as Pavarti Patil wrapped an arm around Lavender's shoulders, which brightened her smile considerably. There were so many reminders of the war, some more permanent than others.

"Nnnggg I'm so hungry..." Ron moaned, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

"I know, right?" Harry grinned.

Hermione shot them both a look, lips pursed. Ron and Harry wiped the grins off their faces and assumed a more appropriate facial expression to that of utmost interest of the Sorting.

Finally, _finally_, the Sorting was over. Professor McGonagall whipped the Sorting Hat off the last first year, made a Slytherin. With a clap of her hands the plates in front of everyone filled with food. Quiet gasps were heard from most of the first years, but most were drowned out by an incredibly loud moan from Ron.

"Food!" he cried, like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

"Honestly, Ronald, it's like you never ate those five sandwiches on the train." Hermione said crossly.

"Or those Chocolate Frogs," Harry grinned as he dug into a roast chicken, "or the Cauldron Cakes, or the liquorice wands or the Every Flavoured Beans..."

"Shu' up!" Ron exclaimed, spraying food all over a disgusted Hermione, "Oop, 'orry 'mione."

Harry shook his head. There were some things that would never change, thank Merlin.

All too soon, however, the last morsels were finished off, and McGonagall stepped out from the staff table.

"Welcome, everyone, to a new year at Hogwarts. It is wonderful to be back, to be able to teach here again, when we all thought last year was the last thing we would ever do. As I'm sure some of you have noticed, Hogwarts has changed. Over the summer many parts were rebuilt, and a memorial was also built near the greenhouses. Sitting here today, we have barely escaped the woes of war, and many of us didn't. The world has changed, the world has mourned. And as much as he is going to hate me, many of us would not be here if it weren't for the triumphs of Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Saviour of our world."

At this Harry let out a low groan and let his head drop to the table. More people glanced his way.

"Harry Potter defeated the Darkest wizard our world has known, right here in the very hall. Many lives were lost, but to him I say thank you. Without him, we would not be able to move on, and at best we would still be under Lord Voldemort's tyranny.

"This year approaches the time of a new age. We have eighth year students, so many students who were not here last year, in hiding or worse. Those who missed a year, excluding eighth years, will meet with me tomorrow morning to discuss the future of their education. We also have new teachers this year, to replace the Transfiguration, Muggle Studies and Defence Against the Dark Arts posts. I introduce to you Professors Tuggen, Miller and Dawlish, respectively."

"Wasn't Dawlish an Auror or something?" Ron murmured to Harry.

Harry nodded, his eyes up front.

"Eighth years will wait in the Great Hall after the feast is finished. Mr Filch asks me to remind you that Fanged Frisbees and all Weasley's Wizard Wheezes are banned, and if found will warrant immediate detentions. For now, students may head to their respective houses."

"Somehow, I don't think George will be making all that much new stock," Ron said sadly.

In the usual uproar as students left for their common rooms, Harry, Ron and Hermione stayed sat. Ginny kissed Harry swiftly (Ron looked pointedly away), and departed with a wink.

Once the crowds had left, Professor McGonagall addressed the eighth years. "This year will be slightly different," she started, "there is no longer room in your own houses, so you will all be living in your own eighth year dormitories. This year, I want to see more inter-house unity, so you will not be sorted into dorm rooms by your house. You will be rooming with students from other houses, and you will not complain. Do you understand?"

A general murmuring reached her, and she nodded primly. "You will be living in the West Tower. It's a newly built extension to the castle, built purely for the purposes of accommodating eighth years. I will give you all your dorm room numbers individually, and I will not hear any complaints."

Harry was glad to find out he would share a dorm room with Ron, they had both been told Dorm Room 6.

The eighth years walked off to the Tower in dribs and drabbles, through the dark corridors and up to the fourth floor.

The West Tower stood barely attached to the main castle, and from the outside stood tall and solitary against the dark horizon. Inside, however, it was warm and inviting. Several fireplaces were spread out along the walls, and chintzy armchairs surrounded each one. Each of the four walls was painted a different colour, too. An emerald green wall, a scarlet red wall, a deep blue wall and a yellow wall, each obviously representing the four houses, coinciding and living as one. A door in the far corner of the room obviously led to the grounds outside; a second exit.

Harry and Ron waved goodbye to Hermione as she set off to some stairs to the right, obviously to the girls dorms. They took some stairs to their left, until they found the door labelled "Number Six."

The door was already open a smidge. Harry pushed it further, to reveal their new dorm mates.

Ron snarled. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Draco Malfoy stood within, flanked with Goyle and Blaise Zabini, and Terry Boot to the side.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I only wish i owned something like this.

A/N: I would like to dedicate this story to my wonderful friend, purplepeopleeater78. Happy now? haha

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><p>Harry grimaced and walked inside. "Malfoy." He nodded, civilly, he thought.<p>

"Fuck no." Malfoy exclaimed. "Hell, I'd rather Longbottom or bloody flaming gay Finnigan to Pothead and Weasel! This isn't fair!"

Harry snorted as Malfoy's face turned to look like a petulant child, pouting because his favourite toy was taken away. "Grow some balls, Malfoy." He walked over to an empty and flopped down, deliberately ignoring Malfoy. "Hey Terry what's up?"

"Not much," the other boy stated, "this is an interesting situation, isn't it? I wonder what McGonagall's playing at?"

"Inter-house unity is my best bet," Harry grinned.

"Harry! How can you – I mean, how the – this blows! Stupid Slytherins!" Ron snarled.

"Wow Weaselbee, didn't know you cared." Zabini said, his smooth voice tight with sarcasm.

Ron kicked the bed post of the last available bed.

"Ron, relax." Harry sighed. "There's nothing we can do with it, just deal, ok?"

"But Harry –"

"Ron, seriously."

"Fine!" Ron snarled again, and started getting ready for bed.

"Wow Potter, is Ron submissive or what? Is that what he's like in bed?" Malfoy smirked.

"Fuck off, Malfoy." Harry said mildly.

In the end, that was about the extent of that night's conversation. Everyone just wanted to go to sleep and deal with things in their own way.

Harry climbed into bed and rolled over.

Almost immediately, he fell asleep.

_Harry stood in the Great Hall, watching the battle. He knew what would happen, had been here before. After all, it was a memory. But this memory was different._

_He watched in growing horror as he saw Ginny face off with Bellatrix Lestrange. Saw her die. He struggled to reach Ginny, but he couldn't move, he could only stand and watch. He watched Mrs Weasley give a scream of outrage and charge to her only daughter's murderer. Saw her die, saw the exhilarated look upon Bellatrix's face. _

_None of this had happened like this, so why was it happening now? None of them had died!_

_He saw Remus Lupin die brutally at the hands of Antonin Dolohov, saw Bellatrix murder his wife, Tonks. He saw McGonagall be blasted from Voldemort and fall to the ground, motionless._

_This wasn't how it happened!_

_Tears streamed down his face as the deaths sped up, almost blurring past him. They began to speak, their hollow, dead eyes fixed upon his face._

"_Why didn't you save us? Why didn't you save us, Harry?" They cried continuously. He gave a sob._

"Harry..."

"_I'm sorry,"_ _he whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."_

"Harry..."

"Harry!"

And suddenly Ron was there, shaking him awake.

"Mate, you were dreaming again," he whispered. "You were crying out, I'm sorry, I had to wake you."

Harry looked at him dimly. Ron looked keenly into his face. "I'll be alright, thanks Ron."

"Harry, are you sure?"

"Yeah, thanks for waking me. Go back and get some sleep." He gave a weak smile, and Ron looked at him.

Ron wasn't convinced. "Well alright. Night Harry."

Harry leant back on his pillow. Fuck. He rubbed his forehead, pulled at his hair. He needed some air. Quietly he clambered out of bed and headed out onto the balcony.

He sat down and tucked himself into the foetal position. Why was this still happening? It was five fucking months ago, and he was _still_ having nightmares. He stared out into the darkness. He knew he wouldn't be sleeping now.

Harry sat there for hours, watching the stars fade one by one, watching as the sun rose.

Eventually he untangled his stiff limbs, and headed back inside. To his surprise, and dismay, most of his dorm mates were already up and awake.

"How long were you out there for, mate?" Ron asked, a knowing look in his eye.

"Er, not long... um just watching the sun come up, is all..." Harry lied. And Harry knew Ron knew he lied.

"Mmmm," Ron replied. "Well, get dressed and we'll head out to breakfast."

"Aww Weaslebee, how nice of you, will you wait for me too?" Malfoy mocked them.

Before Malfoy knew it, he was staring down the wood of a wand. "Shut the fuck up Malfoy. We're in a dorm together, try to be fucking civil."

_What happened to Potter not caring and being civil himself?_ Draco wondered. He stared into the blazing green eyes, unprepared for what he saw.

Potter looked exhausted. And scared. His eyes, although blazing, were dull. That was scary, to Draco. It didn't seem like Potter. "Hark who's talking," he said, raising his eyebrows. He stalked from the room, trailed by Goyle and Blaise.

Almost immediately after they left, Harry dropped his wand and groaned. He slumped onto his bed and rubbed his face.

"You – you still want to head to breakfast?" Ron asked uncertainly.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Let's go find Hermione."

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><p>After breakfast, the eighth years waited outside professor McGonagall's office, waiting to be called in, anticipating the future careers discussion.<p>

When Harry finally stepped into the Headmistress's office, he noticed how little had changed since the reign of Dumbledore, and since Snape, really. Odd spindly instruments still sat on small tables, the walls were still lined with bookshelves and portraits of previous headmasters. The only difference, Harry noted, was the two newest headmaster portraits. One of Dumbledore, one of Snape. Portrait-Dumbledore winked at Harry.

Harry sat down in the same chintzy chair he always sat in, only now opposite McGonagall. He was grateful she got straight down to business.

"Potter," she began, "you do realise that you do not need to be here? Kingsley did say that he would accept you straight into Auror training, even though you never passed your N.E.W.T's. Look at what you have accomplished! After all, you are the –"

"The Chosen One, yeah." Harry interrupted. "The Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, Saviour of the Wizarding World. Professor, I don't want special treatment."

McGonagall's keen eyes observed him sharply over her spectacles. Her lips pursed slightly and her expression softened. "Alright Potter," she said, "based on your past results from sixth year, you are cleared to continue all subjects at N.E.W.T level that you would require to become an Auror. Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Charms."

A short while later, he was awaiting Ron's return from his interview. When Ron came out, Harry gave a sigh of relief as his best friend gave the thumbs up. They both headed off to their first lesson of Transfiguration, Hermione already there.

Professor Tuggen stood at the front of the classroom. He was a stumpy, balding man with a face that looked as if it had been squashed one too many times. Surprisingly, however, his voice was soft, and held with it a ring of authority that made even the worst miscreants pay attention.

"Welcome to your final year of Transfiguration," he began, "no doubt some of you will have learnt much of this last year, despite your disrupted seventh year, and I expect many of you haven't. This year we will be touching on the concept Transfiguration of the human body. Now this does not necessarily mean into an animal, and it is not the same as an animagus. An animagus can transform their body's into a single animal that represents their soul, and can be done without a wand. Transfiguring the human body requires a wand, and can be anything from an elephant to a couch."

The man continued to talk, while Harry paid less attention. He grinned slightly, remembering Slughorn the armchair. By the end of the lesson, the students had been piled up with homework; research, revision and an essay already.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was similar, yet it had its disadvantages. The moment Harry walked through the door, Professor Dawlish grinned mockingly. "Harry Potter" he said, "no doubt you know much more than me on this subject. Are you sure you even need to take it?"

"Yes sir," Harry said stiffly. "I'm sure you can give me a much more thorough perspective of it though."

Dawlish let a smug smile crawl up his face. The image really wasn't that inviting.

Dean Thomas raised his hand. "Sir, weren't you an Auror, before coming here?"

"Why yes I was actually. I was considered the best of the Aurors."

"But then, sir," Ron interjected, "Weren't you unable to stop Dumbledore from escaping? And Dirk Cresswell?"

The smug smile instantly slipped off Dawlish's face, to be replaced by a horrible grimace. "Didn't do much use to old Dirk now did it? He didn't last long." He leered.

The room filled with a shocking silence. How could Dawlish be so remarkably blasé about someone lost in the war?

"Sir, Dirk Cresswell was an amazing man. He didn't deserve his life to be cut short by war." Harry said quietly. He couldn't help but think back to that moment, listening to Dirk Cresswell and Ted Tonks through the Extendable Ears. The man had stood up for his rights, and he didn't deserve to be ridiculed by this man.

"Ten points from Gryffindor!" Dawlish snapped. "Now back to the lesson!"

Overall, the day was long and arduous. Harry knew he was in over his head, having not studied for a year. But he also knew that here was where he needed to be. He needed to finish school, he needed to not be treated specially because he was Harry Potter. Not that that really stopped the stares and whispering he got everywhere he went.

To his disgust, he couldn't finish dinner. There could feel eyes boring into the back of his skull, knew it was more than one person watching him. He slammed out of the Great Hall, followed closely by Ron and Hermione.

"Oh Harry, don't worry about it. I'm sure it will die down in a few days." Hermione reassured.

"Or a few weeks... or months... or –" Ron was cut short, Hermione's elbow digging painfully into his ribs.

"Gee. Thanks Ron. I feel so much better now." Harry rolled his eyes.

They reached their common room and settled around one of the roaring fireplaces. It was nice not being surrounded by gawking first years.

"Since we're early, we can start on all that Transfiguration homework we've been given!" Hermione said brightly.

The three studied diligently over the next few hours, ignoring the comings and goings of many of the other eighth years. At one stage, Ron and Hermione left Harry alone for their prefect and Head Girl duties, but were soon back and down to business.

Eventually, they trudged up to bed, ignoring most of their dorm mates, and crashed.

Thankfully, Harry slept peacefully.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: not mine, unfortunately

A/N: sorry it took so long!

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><p>The next day dawned bright and early.<p>

Unfortunately, so did Malfoy.

"Oi!" Ron bellowed. "Malfoy! Get out of the damn bathroom; you've been in there for half an hour already!"

"Why Weasley, I am only doing the necessities. I'll have you know it only takes me 45 minutes to gel my hair." Malfoy's drawling voice floated through the door.

With the barest hint of a smirk, Harry dragged Ron out of their dormitory. They met Hermione in the common room and headed for breakfast.

After breakfast, Harry, Ron and Hermione headed down to the dungeons for their first Potions lesson. Despite being taught by Professor Slughorn again, it was still held in the dungeons, perhaps in memory of Severus Snape, past Potions teacher and Head of Slytherin. Or, simply, it was easier to not relocate classrooms.

The classroom was filled with rich, exotic smells, a perfume that seemed to lull many into a drowsy stupor. Along the walls were jars full of potions ingredients; pickled animal innards, stewed plants and pots full of dried ingredients. In a back corner was the door to the supply cupboard. Harry, Ron and Hermione quickly chose a table in the back corner, and were soon joined by Ernie Macmillan, the only Hufflepuff to make it to the final year of Potions in N.E.W.T's standard. Harry noted that Malfoy was again in this class, accompanied by Blaise Zabini. Several Ravenclaws were also seated, sharing a table together.

"Ah, Harry m'boy!" cried Slughorn as he ambled through the door after the last dregs of students.

"Hello Professor," Harry muttered, embarrassed.

"Surprised to see you here! Felt sure you would take up on old Shacklebolt's offer!" boomed Slughorn.

"Er, well, I thought it would be wiser to finish my education, sir."

"Naturally, naturally," said Slughorn. "Now today, as eighth years, you will be taught much of what was in the curricula last year. So no doubt some of you may have already made this brew before. We will be making Essence of Dittany. Now this is an extremely complex potion, so you will need..."

As Slughorn rambled on, Harry's thoughts drifted. Sitting opposite, Ernie was blatantly staring at Harry, mouth open slightly. Several of the Ravenclaws a few tables over were sneaking furtive glances at him. Malfoy was also staring, an ugly sneer on his face. When he noticed Harry was watching him stare, he rolled his eyes and muttered something to Zabini, both chuckling.

Harry looked away angrily. Why did Slughorn have to bring that up? Harry was in the spotlight enough as it was, without drawing attention to his association with the new Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Yes, Kingsley had offered to boost him into Auror training, without having completed his N.E.W.T's. No, he hadn't taken the offer, because he was drawing attention as it was, without the special treatment. Harry was going to work to get into Auror training, not just because he survived and defeated the darkest wizard of all time.

As Slughorn finished talking, there was a rush as everyone scrambled to begin, chairs scraping as some hurried to the supply cupboard.

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><p>Slughorn walked around the classroom occasionally, sticking his head over their shoulders, remarking on their progress.<p>

Half way into the lesson, Ron was cursing softly. His potion, supposed to look sky blue by this point, was looking decidedly orange.

"How on earth did you do that?" asked Harry, amused. His potion was not quite right either, but at least his colour was only darker blue.

"I don't know!" Ron groaned, frustrated. He poked at the cauldron with his wand, and shouted in alarm as his potion burst into flame.

"Wow, Weasley, did you steal Longbottom's brains or something?" drawled Malfoy.

Ron's face was steadily turning redder by the minute. Harry gestured obscenely to Malfoy and Hermione began stirring Ron's potion and waving her wand above it, making a futile attempt to rectify whatever mistake Ron had made.

Harry gave his own potion another stir, and gave up. The lesson was almost over, and he thought his potion was fairly decent.

Sure enough, Slughorn's cry of "Time's up!" sounded not a minute later. The students ladled what they could into small flasks, and shuffled up the front to hand their attempts up.

All the way to lunch, Ron could be heard muttering to himself, sometimes audibly, but most times barely louder than a breath. Harry and Hermione only caught the odd snippet; "... stupid Malfoy," or "stupid potions..."

"Oh cheer up Ron," said Hermione irritably. "We're going to lunch. Food."

As usual, it really was only that last word that cheered Ron up. As always, he thought with his stomach.

At lunch, the three caught up with Ginny. Harry smiled broadly at the sight of his girlfriend and instantly looped his hand into hers. "Have a good day?" he asked her.

"Sure," she shrugged. "Had Dawlish for Defence, he's a bit stuck up."

"I know," Harry sighed as they all sat down at the Gryffindor table. "He took points off me for saying Dirk Cresswell didn't deserve to die in the war..."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well I'm sure this will be an interesting year."

"Nah it'll be a piece of cake!" Ron grinned, holding up a half eaten slice of cake. Those around groaned. Trust Ron.

"Anyway," he continued, "We're war heroes now! It'll be more different than interesting. I don't fancy an interesting year after the year we've had."

Harry nodded in agreement. After seven "interesting" years, he really didn't want another.

At one stage, McGonagall stood up and stated that Quidditch trials would be starting on the weekend, and those hopeful of trying out would report to their Captain.

"Wait," said Harry, confused. "Who's the Gryffindor Captain?"

Many people on the Gryffindor table turned to stare at him. Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron smacked his forehead.

"You really can be a bit of a dunderhead, Harry," Ginny said fondly.

"Who?" he insisted.

Ginny wriggled around to face him better. He looked at her face, and slowly his eyes travelled downwards to spot the shiny red badge adorning the front of her robes. Harry felt a hot flush rise up his cheeks. He grinned sheepishly.

"Er –"

"Oh stop" she said, amused. She batted his arm.

"Some boyfriend you are, Harry!" Seamus yelled from further down the table.

"At least I have a girlfriend!" Harry yelled back.

"Well, I'm off," said Ginny, pecking Harry on the lips and leaving, before Ron could even pointedly look away.

Soon after, Hermione followed suit, claiming she didn't want to be late for her first Ancient Runes class.

Ron and Harry sat leisurely at the table. They both had a free lesson, and were unsure what to do.

"We could start our Transfiguration homework," Harry suggested.

Ron looked at him and they both burst out laughing.

In the end, they settled in their common room and began to play chess. Ron had beaten Harry no less than four times by the time Hermione came back from her lessons, looking harried and out of breath.

"Professor Vector gave me loads of work!" she stated furiously.

"Shame," Ron yawned.

Hermione glared at him.

That night, Harry dragged Ginny into the eighth year Common Rooms. They plonked themselves on a couch in front of one of the fireplaces. Hermione sat at a table nearby, diligently doing her homework, occasionally muttering to herself. Ron sat nearer to Hermione than Harry and Ginny, and looked as if he was torn between accompanying them, or reprimanding them, to "keep the snogging to the minimum."

Here, sitting lazily in front of a warm fire, with Ginny at his side, was where Harry was meant to be. After nearly a year apart, he wanted nothing more than to never let go of Ginny. He was so grateful that she had waited for him, had forgiven him. He remembered that moment, when she had come stumbling into the Room of Requirement, eyes blazing, pumped for battle. It had been like the sun had suddenly come out from the clouds. That moment when he heard her screams, when she believed he was dead. Her eyes alight with fire as she fought against Death Eaters, his fear as her wand twirled and twisted.

He remembered all those long nights, stuck in the old tent, his wand trained on the Marauders Map, watching the dot that represented Ginny as it wandered around the Gryffindor common room.

This was where he was meant to be.

As if reading Harry's thoughts, Ginny sighed and snuggled closer to him.

"Hey Ginny, guys," said Neville as he slumped on the floor in front of the fire.

"Hey Neville what's up?" asked Ron. He looked eager for someone to talk to, someone that wasn't doing homework or snuggling on a couch.

As Neville launched into a description of how his _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_ had finally matured enough to start producing Fromptuous Flowers, well known for their use in healing potions, Seamus and Dean and several other eighth year Gryffindors joined the little group. The conversation soon turned to league Quidditch, and Ron and Parvati Patil were soon arguing heatedly about who would win this year's cup.

Harry smiled contentedly. It was nice to come back to this. After a year of horrors and mayhem, it was refreshing to come back to a scene of normality.

At one stage Lavender Brown joined the group, sitting quietly on the edge of Harry and Ginny's couch. The conversations paused briefly, but soon continued.

Lavender had changed. Gone was the loud, exuberant, flirty girl, she was replaced with this quiet shell of what she used to be. Many people were unsure as how to treat this Lavender. Carefully, in case she got offended? With revulsion, as the horrific scars stood out on her face? Like she was something fragile? The Gryffindors, to Lavenders secret relief, treated her like they always had, including her in the latest gossip. It was the hardest for her to face people in other houses, because she knew they didn't know how to treat her. Lavender looked at Harry and smiled a little sadly. To an extent, she now knew how Harry must be feeling, although it was slightly different.

Lavender watched from the sidelines, as Harry was treated with reverence and fear, almost in a worshipful kind of way, so much worse than the previous years. She watched as he withdrew slightly, preferring to give his attention to his friends, only his friends. Because they treated him like he was a person.

Lavender understood.

Harry caught her smiling at him, and gave her a big smile in return. She knew things had changed, but she also knew that some things were still the same.

Eventually, it was time for Ginny to head back to her own common room, or she would be out past curfew. Harry walked her to the door.

She dragged on his hand and they stood in the doorway. Harry leaned his forehead against hers. "So that's our common room," he grinned.

Ginny grinned back, and suddenly they were kissing. She closed her eyes, savouring the taste of Harry, her Harry. She felt a hand snake around her back and she leaned into him, deepening the kiss. She placed a hand at the back of his head, gripping his hair, not allowing him to draw away. Harry ran his tongue across her lips, his breath mingling with hers. She bit his lip, a little seductively, and she felt him grin again.

He pushed her gently against the frame of the door, one hand on the wall next to her head.

Harry loved this. He loved her. They were so attuned to each other, knew what the other wanted.

Eventually they stopped, breathing a little heavily. "You don't want to be caught by Filch..." Harry whispered softly.

"Mmmm." She murmured against his lips.

She gave him a final peck, and was gone.

Harry returned to his friends, a little dazedly, and ignored them as they joked and whistled at him. It was not long after that he and Ron headed for bed.

In the dorm room, Malfoy and Zabini were already preparing for bed.

"So Potty, what was that Slughorn was jabbering about this morning?" Malfoy sneered.

Harry sighed; he should have known this would happen. "Whatever you want to believe Malfoy." Harry said tiredly.

"Now come on," Malfoy reproached, "I genuinely want to know, I'm trying to start a conversation. Inter-house unity and all that stuff." Malfoy's tone was light, and Harry might have almost believed him, if it weren't for the ugly grimace plastered on his face.

"Why Malfoy," Harry said, just as pleasantly, "I didn't know you were for that kind of thing."

"Spill, Potter."

Harry sighed. He supposed it would probably be a better idea. "For your information, Malfoy, Kingsley offered me a position in Auror training, despite not having completed school. Same with Ron."

Ron grinned smugly.

Malfoy had the decency to look surprised, before the grimace was back on his face. "Why in the name of Merlin didn't you take it? Why would you want to come back _here_? Oh wait, is it because of your precious _girlfriend_, Potty?"

"No, Malfoy, I just didn't want special treatment. Now sod off."

Harry climbed into his four poster bed. Malfoy was still staring at him like he had grown a second head, with a mixture of contempt on his face.

Before Malfoy could retort, however, Harry had drawn his curtains, Ron following suit.

Harry stared at his curtains for a moment. A thought had just occurred to him. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before! He grinned and cast a silencing charm around his bed, preventing anyone hearing what he may or may not dream.

_He was standing in a dark room, shaped rather like an amphitheatre. At the centre of the amphitheatre, stood an arch. The arch seemed to have a veil in it, and it sounded like someone was talking, just out of sight. Harry gasped and a jolt of recognition shuddered through his entire body._

"_Oh no..." He whispered._

_He turned to a noise to his left, and cried out as Bellatrix Lestrange suddenly stood above him. She cackled madly. To Harry's right, next to the veil, stood Sirius._

"_No... Sirius!"_

_Sirius turned at the sound of Harry's voice, and grinned. He seemed to notice Bellatrix, then. With a shout he charged at her, sending spell after spell, and she deflected and sent her own._

_Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light; he was laughing at her._

"_Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room._

"_Sirius!" Harry bellowed._

_The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest._

"_Sirius!" Harry yelled, frantic now._

_It seemed to take Sirius and age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch._

_The dream blurred slightly, and suddenly Sirius's head floated in front of Harry._

"_Why didn't you come after me Harry?" the apparition whispered. "I only went through the veil. Why didn't you follow? Don't you love me?"_

"_Sirius..." Harry moaned._

"_Don't you love me Harry?"_

"_No Sirius, please..."_

And Harry woke with a start.

He threw back the curtains and headed for the bathroom. Harry splashed his face with water. Washed the salt from his eyes. But the scene of Sirius, his godfather, falling through the veil seemed to be imprinted on his eyelids.

A quiet sob escaped his lips, and he clenched his eyes shut tight. Taking a deep breath, he straightened up. Wrapping some warmer clothes around him, he headed back down to the common room. There were still a few hours until sunrise.

He settled himself in front of a dwindling fire and started his Transfiguration homework.

A bit after dawn, just as he was finishing the essay, Hermione came downstairs, a few textbooks and a roll of parchment in hand. It only took her a moment to notice him.

"Harry! What are you doing down here?"

"Er, thought I might get up a bit early and work on that Transfiguration homework." He lied.

"Harry."

"Yes Hermione?" He said, for all the world trying to sound nonchalant.

"When did you get down here?"

He stared guiltily into her face. She knew. He knew she knew.

She stared back, a sad look upon her face.

"Oh come on, budge over." She said.

Harry obliged, and she snuggled in next to him. He knew she would want to talk about it, but right now, just her presence was enough.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before she asked. "It was Sirius," he said reluctantly, "I watched him die."

Hermione didn't say anything, just sat there, her arms around him. Harry had no idea how long they stayed there, but by the time they finally moved, several other students had been in and out of the room. Hermione eventually untangled herself from him.

"I'm going to get Ron; it's about breakfast time anyway."

Harry nodded, his eyes on the dead fire.

"Come on mate, let's go find Ginny." Ron had appeared, sounding slightly disgruntled at the prospect of seeing Ginny and Harry together again.

Breakfast was a non event; however Ginny had successfully managed to cheer him up enough, ready for the first class. As they left, she kissed one of the bags under his eyes and gave him a hug.

Harry barely made it through the day, he was so exhausted. If it weren't for the fact that school life was a basic routine, he had no idea how he didn't fall asleep at lunch, or even at dinner. And he couldn't go to sleep straight after either, he had an essay for Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts to work on.

As it was, he, Ron and Hermione were camped in what they now considered their corner in the common room, and throughout the room were quite a few other eighth years buried in homework.

"_Describe the functions and usefulness of Essence of Dittany..."_ Ron read out loud, "Well one use is that it saved my arm from being splinched off."

Harry smiled dimly. He was so tired he could barely concentrate. _Uses: gashes, slashes cuts and infections..._

_Gashes, slashes, cuts and infections..._

Two hours later, he handed his messy, ink splotched essay to Hermione to check for him. She smiled to herself and began waving her wand over the parchment, erasing the ink splotches and corrected the misspelt words and poorly formed sentences.

Surprisingly, Ron was still working furiously on his, despite being fully rested and awake.

Once Hermione had finished, Harry gave a half-hearted wave, and set off to bed, ready to crash.


	4. Chapter 4

disclaimer: not mine

a/n: Wow my chapters are getting longer! yay go me!

dedications: to Tomorrow, the day the dvd of Deathly Hallows comes out! (for us Down Under, at least!)

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><p>Harry was finishing up in the bathroom by the time everyone else in his dorm began to wake up. He hadn't dreamt that night, but he was up early anyway. Paranoia was the world's best alarm clock. He was spitting out the last of his toothpaste when Ron barged in.<p>

"Quick," Ron panted, "get out!"

"What? Ron – "

Ron grinned evilly. He pushed Harry forcibly out the bathroom and locked the door.

Harry shrugged and walked back over to his bed. It wasn't for almost 15 minutes before Harry clued into what Ron was up to.

"Weasley! Get out of the bathroom! Some of us have classes today as well!" Malfoy pounded on the bathroom door, to no avail. "Alohamora!" Malfoy cried, and proceeded to use as many unlocking charms as he could think of.

Harry grinned. "Ah the uses of being on the run for a year, don't you agree Malfoy?"

Malfoy turned on him. "Make him get out! I need to wash my hair!"

"I would..." said Harry, "but I wouldn't want to disturb him, I have no idea what he's up to."

Even Terry Boot was smiling at this stage.

Blaise, having only just risen, strode over to the door and attempted to spell it open.

Harry pushed back the cuticles on his nails, the image of boredom.

"Potter!"

Finishing the last nail, Harry slowly raised his head. He looked Malfoy dead in the eye, and left the dorm.

He met Hermione in the Common Room and the both left for breakfast.

"What about Ron?" asked Hermione, looking confused.

Harry grinned again. "He's tormenting Malfoy."

"Harry!" said Hermione, "we're supposed to be promoting inter-house unity!"

"Hey!" Harry said, "All he's doing is using the bathroom!"

Harry grinning, Hermione looking disgruntled, they entered the Great Hall.

Harry was just finishing off his bacon and eggs, over half an hour later, when Ron came bouncing into the Great Hall. His grin was so large it was almost splitting his face in two. He plonked down next to Hermione and began shovelling his face full of food.

Hermione turned to look at him, with her most I-Am-Head-Girl-And-You-Better-Respect-Me face. "Ron. What _have_ you been doing?"

Ron didn't as much as pause while devouring a sausage. "Malfoy spends every other day spending 45 minutes in the bathroom, I thought I would see what the fuss is about." He said with a shrug. He began buttering a slice of toast.

Hermione hit him.

"Ah! What the – "

"We're supposed to be promoting inter-house unity!" She said, furious.

"But Malfoy's a git and – "

"I don't care!"

Hermione stood up from the table. She grabbed hold of the backs of Ron and Harry's robes and pulled, dragging them out the hall. From behind them, they heard someone, sounding strongly like Seamus; make a loud noise that sounded suspiciously like the sound of a whip being cracked.

"Gah, Hermione! Let us go!"

She did not release them from her iron grip until they had reached the door of their first class that day, Charms. They slipped inside the classroom, Ron grumbling quietly to himself. They took up their usual seats at the back and waited for the rest of the students to turn up.

Tiny Professor Flitwick was still teaching Charms, and once settled he quickly got the class organised. He stood next to a large chest at the front of the classroom. "Today we will begin working on illusion charms. Illusion charms can be beneficial in many ways, and what are the most common forms? Yes – Miss Granger?"

"Illusion charms are often used if the caster does not want to be seen, so many common charms include the disillusionment charm, muggle repelling charms and others used to protect or hide a person or location, like the Fidelius Charm, and charms to make a location unplottable." Hermione said rapidly.

"Well done!" Flitwick beamed, "and take 10 points to Gryffindor! Now I want you all to practise the basic disillusionment charm. Remember to rap yourself on the head, and if you have it right, you should feel like someone cracked an egg on your head, and it's running down your back. Now take these mirrors – " and with a wave of his wand, small mirrors floated out of the chest out front and began distributing themselves among the students. " – and attempt to look like a human chameleon!"

At once the classroom was filled with voices, as students muttered and rapped themselves on the head. Harry wondered whether having the spell performed on him ages ago would give him any advantage. Feeling like an idiot, he copied his classmates. Naturally, it was Hermione who succeeded first. It was odd, to look at her and instead see the brick wall behind her, just a vague outline could be seen as she moved. She grinned, revealing sparkling white teeth.

"You look like a Cheshire cat!" Harry exclaimed, laughing.

"A what?" Ron asked, focusing on his mirror, his face slowly turning purple with the effort.

"A Cheshire – don't worry." Harry said.

To Harry's surprise, by the end of the lesson, both he and Ron had also achieved it. Which meant no extra homework.

"Excellent!" Ron grinned later that day at dinner time, his mouth stuffed with food.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

* * *

><p>Back in the West Tower, Ron and Harry were playing a game of Exploding Snap, while Hermione diligently worked through her Ancient Runes homework.<p>

"Quidditch tomorrow!" Ron sang.

"Only the trials." Harry said.

"Yeah but still – flying, playing a bit of Quidditch, avoiding homework..."

"Yes Ron," came Hermione's voice waspishly over her pile of books, "Hadn't you better start that Transfiguration essay? It's due on Monday and Harry and I have already finished it."

Ron gaped at Harry. "You've already finished? Since when?"

"Er, I had a morning free so that's when..."

"Uh huh, I'm sure. In that case I guess I'll just... Ha!" Ron slammed his hand down on the pile of cards, claiming another win.

Harry rolled his eyes.

* * *

><p><em>The night wet and windy, two children dressed as pumpkins waddling across the square, and the shop windows covered in paper spiders, all the tawdry Muggle trappings of a world in which they did not believe... and he was gliding along, that sense of purpose and power and rightness in him that he always knew on these occasions... not anger... that was for weaker souls than he... but triumph, yes... he had waited for this, he had hoped for it...<em>

"_Nice costume Mister!"_

_He saw the small boy's smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face; then the child turned and ran away... beneath the robe he fingered the handle of his wand... one simple movement and the child would never reach his mother... but unnecessary, quite unnecessary..._

_And along a new and darker street he moved, and now his destination was in sight at last, the Fidelius Charm broken, though they did not know it yet... and he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and stared over it..._

_They had not drawn the curtains, he saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall, black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of coloured smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired baby in his blue pyjamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist..._

_A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long, dark red hair falling over her face. Now the father scooped up the son and handed him to the mother. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning..._

_The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open._

_He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy, he had not even picked up his wand..._

"_Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off – "_

_Hold him off, without a wand in his hand! ... he laughed before casting the curse..._

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut..._

_He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear... he climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in... she had no wand upon her either... how stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments..._

_He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand... and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the cot behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead..._

"_Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

"_Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now..."_

"_Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead – "_

"_This is my last warning – "_

"_Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything – "_

"_Stand aside – stand aside, girl – "_

_He could have forced her away from the cot, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all..._

_The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time: he could stand, clutching the bars of his cot, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up at any moment, laughing – _

_He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face: he wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child had begun to cry: it had seem that he was not James. He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones' whining at the orphanage – _

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

"Fuck!"

Harry sat up in bed. He bent over and buried his face in his hands. He had never known his parents, except for his first year of life. Over the years, he had found out how they had died, why they had died. In third year, he had heard them being murdered when he was in the presence of Dementors. Last year, he had finally seen their murder, reliving it through Voldemort's eyes after he had escaped, yet again, from Godric's Hollow. And now he was seeing it in his dreams?

He scrunched his face, trying to ignore the stinging feeling behind his eyes. It wasn't _fair_. Ron didn't dream, and as far as he knew nor did Hermione. They had all seen and been through just as much as he had. So why was he the only one?

Lucky, special, attention seeking, _chosen_, Harry Potter...

He sighed. Only 4am, and he wouldn't be sleeping again. He got out of bed, shuffling around, and headed down to the common room to start his Charms essay. At least this way he was staying on top of his homework...

Soon enough, the day arose, and so did everyone else. Harry and Ron threw back a quick breakfast, and were down to the Quidditch Pitch, ready for the trials. Hermione begged homework, so they left her in West Tower.

Already down there, Ginny was waiting. By her feet was a trunk that Harry knew contained the quaffle, bludgers and snitch. Seeing Harry, she winked.

"Alright listen up!" She yelled as the last stragglers wandered in. "I want you all sorted into groups, those trying out for which positions." She then described how she wanted each group to fly a loop around the pitch. This basic manouver automatically eliminated many of the hopeful Gryffindors.

As the day went on, the tasks set gradually grew in difficulty. Harry himself was flying his hardest on his new Firebolt, racing the others and beating at least 6 people trying out for Seeker, to the snitch 5 times.

The Beaters were aiming bludgers at sparkly floating targets; the accuracy required slowly cutting back on the recruits.

The Chasers were given a sort of obstacle course, where they had to fly around simple magical replicas of someone on a broomstick, agility being essential to a Chaser. As the numbers got smaller, a quaffle was added.

The Keepers just had to keep out as many quaffles as possible; the person who let in the least would become Keeper.

The hours drew on, and around lunch time, the team was finally sorted. Most of the team was the same to Harry's sixth year, so they all knew how to fly together. Harry was Seeker, Ron was Keeper, and the Chasers were Ginny, Dean Thomas and Demelza Robins. The beater positions were again held by Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote.

Exhausted, Harry helped Ginny pack up the balls and they headed back up the green slopes to the castle together.

Ginny again spent the afternoon in the West Tower with Harry, but this time they were engaged in a fierce battle of Exploding Snap with Ron, Dean, Seamus, Neville, Justin Finch-Fletchley Terry Boot.

Exploding Snap lasted much of the afternoon, the raucous yells of the group when someone won or lost, or when the cards exploded, affected the entire common room. They had several complaints from Ravenclaws, but they continued. Eventually, those who wanted to study, including Hermione, sought other, quieter locations.

At one stage, some of the Hufflepuffs left and came back with food from the kitchens, as they all had missed dinner. It made it a race for those to avoid their cards exploding and to stuff delicious puff pastries or blackforest cakes in their mouths.

Eventually Ginny left, so as not to miss curfew, and again Harry walked her to the door, where, again, an intense snogging regime began.

She left, and Harry looked back at the large group in the corner. The group had expanded, more Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had joined in. It was only the Slytherins who resolutely hung around in small groups, deliberately ignoring what was almost a party.

Harry paused for a second, then darted out the secluded door that led out to the grounds.

It was dark now, and the grounds of Hogwarts appeared almost eerie. The Forbidden Forest was a dark smudge against the horizon, and Hagrid's hut was dimly lit by a flickering fire.

Harry turned away from that direction, and headed towards the lake, reflecting the light of the moon. He came to a stop beneath a tree on the edge of the lake, on a slight downwards slope. He sat on the grass beneath the tree.

Harry's thoughts began to drift.

He remembered learning how his parents had died. Hagrid had told him that much. He had spent his childhood believing they had died in a car crash, the lightning scar on his forehead an ugly reminder of a simple, Muggle tragedy. Instead, they had been murdered by the Darkest wizard in a hundred years.

He remembered seeing them in the Mirror of Erised, what he most desired, meeting his parents. How he had stood in front of that mirror for countless nights in wonder and longing. How he had felt when Dumbledore removed the mirror.

He remembered the lovely little photo album he had received from Hagrid, who had spent months collecting photos of Harry's parents, from friends and anyone he could find. That album was locked in Harry's bedside table back in his dorm; it was one of his most valued possessions.

He remembered first hearing his mother's voice, when he was faced with Dementors. He had fainted, but the memory was real. As he slowly heard more of their deaths, he was faced with a decision: learn how to defend himself, or hear his parents?

He remembered almost drinking in what Sirius told him that night, about their school days, the Marauders Map, becoming an animagi. Smiling slightly, Harry whispered to himself.

"Expecto Patronum."

A silver stag burst from his wand, it cantered around the lake slowly, its hooves skimming the surface. Harry twiddled his wand around, lost in thought.

In fourth year, faced against Voldemort, ghostly echoes had erupted from Voldemort's wand. He had seen his parents. They had spoken to him, protected him how real parents would.

When he walked to meet his death, the Resurrection Stone in hand, his parent walking with him, comforting him. In a way, he almost regretted dropping that stone. He wanted to see his parents more. He _craved_ it. But he knew to go back for it, or to let it fall into the hands of another, was stupid. He would waste away, wishing he could have known them, wishing things were different.

The stag wandered closer to Harry, its nose snuffling on the ground. Harry raised a hand, wishing to touch it, wishing it was Prongs, his father.

"Potter?"

Harry could have sworn he jumped about a foot in the air. He whipped around to face the intruder, wand raised, and was startled to see the white blond hair glinting softly in the moonlight.

"Fuck! Malfoy! What the hell!"

"Relax, Potter. I'm not here to kidnap you or whatever. You're the Chosen Boy, remember? I'd get a life sentence in Azkaban for just touching a single hair on your head."

Harry lowered his wand. "What do you want Malfoy?" He said warily.

Malfoy shrugged. "I wanted to see who was casting the Patronus."

Harry stared at him. "Alright" he muttered, and plonked back on the ground.

A few moments later, Malfoy sat down too, several metres from Harry.

Harry glanced at him. Malfoy was sitting back, resting on his elbows, legs outstretched. "Er..."

"Shut up and enjoy the company, Potter."

Somewhat confused, Harry shut up.

The two of them lay there in silence for who knew how long. Looking at Malfoy sidelong, Harry thought Malfoy looked the opposite of how he felt. Inside, Harry was feeling all twitchy. What was Malfoy doing here? What did he want? He twisted his wand nervously in his fingers.

Finally, Malfoy spoke. "Why did you save me in the Room of Requirement, from the Fiendfyre?"

Harry remained silent. Although not a totally unexpected question, it still required thinking. "You didn't deserve to die."

"But I was a Death Eater."

"Well why didn't you give me away, back at the Manor? I know you knew it was me the moment you saw us."

This time it was Malfoy's turn to be silent. "I was in too deep. I didn't know what I was doing, or what I wanted."

"Exactly why I saved you from the Fiendfyre." Harry responded.

The silence stretched out.

It was weird, Harry thought, here they were, Potter and Malfoy, school enemies from day one, sitting in an almost companionable silence.

After what seemed like an age, Harry cast his Patronus again. He and Malfoy watched the stag canter about the lake, snuffling along the ground. At one stage it even got within a metre of Malfoy, but neither boy said anything, lost in their own private thoughts.

It was Harry who finally left, leaving Malfoy alone with his thoughts. Harry did not hear Malfoy come back to the dorm that night.


	5. Chapter 5

a/n: sorry for the slow update!

sorry! i had to make some spelling edits!

* * *

><p>The next day was a sleepy start.<p>

Harry leant over and grabbed his glasses from his bedside table and jammed them on. He now focused on the other beds in the dorm. Ron lay spread-eagled on his bed, out to the world, his mouth open and snoring slightly. His hand twitched occasionally. Across from him, Terry Boot seemed to be a restless sleeper, tossing and turning every few moments. Or perhaps he was just dreaming. Blaise Zabini never moved, the whole time Harry was awake, staying locked in a tiny little ball curled into a corner of his bed. Malfoy's bed was empty.

Harry frowned. Malfoy not in bed? Harry could see the bathroom was available, so where was Malfoy? He clambered out of bed and stumbled to the common room. Not there either...

_Odd_, Harry thought. He shrugged mentally. What Malfoy got up to was no one's business. Harry plonked down in his favourite armchair in front of what he thought as the Gryffindor fireplace. May as well start some homework. He grabbed a spare piece of parchment and almost immediately got back up, to find some relevant books to start his Herbology essay.

He was perhaps halfway through when the outer door opened, and in strode Malfoy, looking frozen to the bone. Harry jumped, so deeply immersed in his work that even the slightest noise startled him.

Malfoy stopped suddenly, noticing Harry.

"Potter." He nodded, and was gone, assumedly up to the dorms.

Harry was confused. What on earth was Malfoy doing outside at a time like this? At 7am on a Sunday? Did he not come in all night? What was with the civility?

_Too many questions,_ Harry grimaced. He turned back to his work, determined to think of nothing else.

There were some advantages to waking up early, Harry mused. This way, there was no one to distract him from his work, and he had more time for other things. He actually had time to draft his work, something unprecedented for him, so he was getting much better grades, even at NEWT standard.

Almost two hours later, he was joined by Ron and Hermione, both of whom had not started their Herbology essay, which Harry had now finished.

Harry grinned. He had started _and_ finished an assignment before Hermione had even thought about starting it. Definitely advantages to rising early, if only to get a rise out of Hermione.

The three chatted animatedly as the rest of the eighth years came down in groups, and headed off for breakfast or their own various tasks.

Harry leaned towards Ron and Hermione. "I want to visit Hagrid."

Hermione squealed. Ron grimaced and clapped a hand to an ear.

"We haven't seen him since school started!" she gasped.

"Well yeah. A week in and we've barely even waved to him, he hardly comes to meals anymore..."

"I wonder why that is?" Ron asked.

It was true, they had seen Hagrid maybe once or twice over the last week at mealtimes. It wasn't like in sixth year, when he was upset with them for not continuing in Care of Magical Creatures, no this time it was something different. And Harry was determined to find out.

So after breakfast, the three headed down the luscious green slopes of Hogwarts, right down to Hagrid's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. This was something Harry was glad to find had barely changed. The Battle of Hogwarts had damaged quite a lot, but it was mainly parts of the castle that had needed rebuilding. The grounds and Hagrid's hut had been almost untouched, albeit a bit worse for wear under the stampeding feet of Death Eaters, centaurs, giant spiders and the like.

"Hagrid!" Hermione yelled, banging on the door, "Hagrid! It's us! Open up!"

A fierce barking started up and Harry grinned at Ron.

"All righ' all righ' I'm coming... Back Fang, I said _back_, yeh dozy dog..."

The large door opened to reveal Hagrid, half-giant and close friend. He glanced down and his face split into a large, toothy grin. "Whatcher standin' out there for? Get inside, get inside!"

He ushered Harry, Ron and Hermione inside, and they moved to sit down in a few of the over-large chairs, custom made for anyone twice the size of a normal man, but made to almost swallow anyone under twelve feet tall.

"Hagrid, where have you been? We've missed you at mealtimes!" exclaimed Hermione. She sank back into her chair as Hagrid offered her a cup of tea, from a cup that held what Harry guessed to be up to a litre of tea.

"Oh tha'" he grunted, flapping a large hand at them. He bustled around the kitchen, preparing even more tea, trying to ignore the three pairs of eyes he could feel drilling into his back. Finally he sat down in a chair opposite Hermione. He sighed.

"Trus' you three to get it out of me..." He grumbled.

"So..." Harry prodded.

"Ter tell you the truth, I bin busy." Hagrid grunted. He rolled his eyes. His three guests were looking at him like a baby Hippogriff waiting for its mother to give it food.

"I've bin in and out of the forest, trying to make it inhabitable for me and classes and stuff. See, new treaties need to be made with the centaurs, even though Firenze is back with the herd, they don't have much respect for humans at the moment. And the Acromantula's, they're none too keen on me being in their forest at the mo'."

"So why does that mean you're not at meals?" said Harry, confused.

"Well, I got classes in the day, don't I?" said Hagrid earnestly.

"But – but why are you still having to do all this, Hagrid? The Final Battle was over four months ago!" said Hermione. Obviously Harry wasn't the only one confused.

"The Acromantula's are a spot of trouble, acos they want to rule the forest, don't they? And you know what centaurs are like, Hermione. They'd rather stargaze than discuss treaties, and they have high demands now. And I was helping rebuild the castle before term started."

"Yes, but," Hermione gestured helplessly. She glanced at Ron and Harry.

"What she means, Hagrid," Harry started, "is that we miss you! We barely see you at all!"

Hagrid again broke out into a large smile. He seemed to be in a very good mood today.

This was the first time Harry, Ron and Hermione had been able to have a decent catch up with Hagrid, before they left after their sixth year. They had all been busy with various jobs over the last four months, rebuilding the castle and Wizarding society in general. It was wonderful just to sit here and exchange stories, the hours just floating by.

Hagrid, as it turned out, actually did host 'Support Potter Parties' last year, with regular members being Ginny and Neville and Luna, and many of the members of Dumbledore's Army, before it had been discovered, forcing Hagrid to flee.

Hagrid had a right old laugh, too, when Ron greatly exaggerated the highlights of their prolonged camping trip, glossing over the harsher and more messy details.

All too soon, however, the day was ending, and all three visitors had homework to catch up on. They departed reluctantly, exchanging fond farewells.

When they reached the West Tower, an immediate bubble of excitement swelled around them. They headed to the notice board by the castle-entrance door, but before they could, Seamus appeared in front of them. "Hogsmead day next weekend!" he exclaimed and bounced off. The three exchanged amused glances.

The announcement of the first Hogsmead day always seemed to rouse a buzz of excitement, even in the oldest students, as it was almost like being released from a cage, not that Hogwarts was a cage, but a cage of homework and study and focus and slight panic as the year progressed. It was a stress reliever, to get out and relax, and forget about the confines of Hogwarts.

The week passed in a blur, the students keen for the weekend. One lesson, however, stood out. Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Dawlish started out relatively normal. He was teaching about Dark curses, when a familiar name came into the lecture. Fiendfyre.

Harry sat up straighter and half-glanced at Malfoy on the other side of the room. Malfoy seemed to be doodling on a piece of parchment, for all appearances looking as if he wasn't listening, but Harry noticed the slight uncontrollable tremor in his right hand.

"... Fiendfyre takes on the shape of magical creatures, as it is cursed fyre, not an ordinary Wizarding or muggle fire. Can anyone tell me what forms it may take? Miss Granger?"

For Hermione's hand had shot into the air, unsurprisingly. "The flames of Fiendfyre can mutate to form beasts like serpents, Chimaeras and dragons, and it's incredibly dangerous and almost impossible to stop."

Harry remembered how terrified he had been. The fyre had been almost alive as it chased them around the Room of Requirement. The Fiendfyre had also destroyed one of the horcruxes, so Harry supposed he had at least one thing to thank Vincent Crabbe for. If he had survived. Only six people knew what had happened in that room, had experienced the sheer terror of being trapped by a raging out of control fyre. Five of those six were in this very classroom, the other was dead. Malfoy, Goyle, Harry, Ron and Hermione had never spoken to anyone what had happened in that room, and nor did they plan to, although Harry suspected the two Slytherins weren't talking about it because then they would have to admit that they were saved by three Gryffindors.

" – but Potter seems to feel he doesn't need to pay attention in my class, maybe he feels he doesn't need to learn?"

Dawlish's voice cut into Harry's thoughts, and he jolted around to stare at the teacher.

"Tell me, Potter, how one might defend themselves from Fiendfyre, if you think you know so much?"

Dawlish wore an ugly smirk on his face; he seemed so keen to make Harry look a fool. Out of the corner of his eye Harry could see Malfoy staring at him, a vague sense of panic flitting across his otherwise controlled expression.

"Er, well Aguamenti doesn't work, it just evaporates and – "

"But Potter, I never said anything about Aguamenti," said Dawlish, "There is no proof that that spell won't work."

"It won't work! Fiendfyre is to hot! Sir." Harry tacked the honourific on hastily.

"And you have experience, compared to me, a fully trained Auror, Potter?"

Malfoy was no longer staring at Harry, he was glaring at his desk and clutching it so tightly his knuckles were almost fluorescent.

"Er, I came across it in the War." Harry said evasively.

"You? But you were on the run for eight months, you couldn't have done anything. You let the bigger men take on the advancing Darkness while you were barely starting a campfire." Dawlish said smugly, leaning on his desk and crossing his arms.

Harry stood up angrily, struggling to keep his voice calm. "I was on the run hunting ways to bring down Voldemort. We made sacrifices. I was not allowing prisoners to escape, steal a wand and stun me, even if they were innocent." Harry almost hissed, seething with fury.

Dawlish's dark eyes glinted. "Detention, Potter."

When class finally ended, Harry slammed out in a foul mood. He stormed all the way to the West Tower before he realised he had left Ron and Hermione behind. He settled down in his armchair to wait for them.

* * *

><p>The weekend could not approach any faster. Harry had organised to go to Hogsmead with Ginny, while Ron and Hermione were also going together, so it was with great enthusiasm when Harry met Ginny in the Entrance Hall.<p>

He linked his hand with hers and she smiled. They set off down the track, following and being followed by many other students.

"So what do you want to do?" He asked her.

Ginny shrugged. "As long as we don't go anywhere near Madam Puddifoot's..."

Harry nodded fervently. His experiences with that coffee shop were not ones he wanted to be reminded of.

So Harry and Ginny wandered the streets of Hogsmead, looking into shops, replenishing their stock of sweets and lollies from Honeydukes.

They stopped in at the Hogs Head at one stage, to see Aberforth, and catch up with the goings on.

To their surprise, the bar was slightly more popular, with more than a few witches and wizards set up in booths, in groups or by themselves. It seemed the place had gained popularity once knowledge had got out that the man who owned the place was the brother of the ex-headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. The place, however, was still as grungy and filthy as it always was.

They also noted that even though the war was over, many shops and businesses, like Zonko's, remained closed. Perhaps the owners had moved on, perhaps they would not come back.

Finally they settled in the Three Broomsticks, to enjoy the familiarity and welcoming atmosphere while downing a frothy Butterbeer. Ron and Hermione met them here.

"Did you here Angelina Johnson has been recruited by the Tutshill Tornados?" Ron said to Harry.

"No, since when?" said Harry.

"Just heard it from George," Ron grinned. "Angelina apparently popped into the store a few weeks back or something, and they got talking.

Ginny's eyes sparkled. It was common knowledge that her ambition was to join her favourite team, the Holyhead Harpies.

Harry glanced at Ginny, nursing his Butterbeer, knowing what was on her mind. Maybe she should talk to Angelina, get an idea on how everything worked.

"What about any of the others?" Hermione asked, "Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet?"

"Didn't say," Ron shrugged apparently he found it more interesting that Angelina Johnson was visiting George in Diagon Alley.

Ginny and Hermione both rolled their eyes. Ron could be so immature. Ginny really had no idea how Hermione could put up with it.

At that moment, there was a loud commotion at the front bar.

Draco Malfoy and one of Madam Rosmerta's bar-helps were having a heated discussion. The other man was gesticulating violently towards the door, obviously indicating Malfoy should leave. Malfoy's company, Goyle and Zabini, stood awkwardly behind him. Malfoy was shouting back at the man. Words floated over to Harry and his table.

"... We are perfectly at right to sit wherever we want!" Malfoy was shouting.

"We don't serve Death Eaters!"

There was a ringing silence in the bar.

Malfoy's face distorted, a lurid pink flush rising in his cheeks.

Madam Rosmerta drew the bar-help aside, and seemed to be giving him a reprimanding. The two disappeared into a back room, where unhappy murmurings could be heard.

Malfoy stalked over to a spare table in a corner, followed by Goyle and Zabini, his cheeks still flushed. As they sat down, talking resumed, albeit quieter.

Harry stood up abruptly.

"More?" He asked his friends. Ginny nodded gratefully, but Ron and Hermione both held up half-full mugs of Butterbeer.

Harry weaved his way to the fron counter, and was served by the man who had caused the drama, now angry at being reprimanded and snappy at his customers.

Harry leaned on the counter.

The man looked up, and recognition flared over his pockmarked face. His muscles worked into a greasy smile, lank hair hanging over his face.

"What can I do you for, Mr Potter?"

"I'd like two Butterbeers, but first – " Harry said quickly as the man made to move away. " – I want you to serve Malfoy and his friends, like they are regular customers." He said firmly.

The man's face turned ugly again. "You can't tell me how to do my job! This is a family bar, we can't serve people like them!" He sneered.

Harry leaned forwards on the counter again. He fought to keep his face in a relatively neutral expression. "But I don't think they're Death Eaters. Even if Malfoy has the Mark, they helped our side in the Final Battle. Surely you don't want to upset someone who played such a crucial part in the defeat of Lord Voldemort."

As expected, the man twitched horribly at the sound of Voldemort's name. "How do you know they were actually on our side?" He said.

"Because I said so," said Harry quietly. "Now serve them their drinks and make it on the house." Harry flicked a Galleon to the man and picked up his and Ginny's drinks.

Once back at his table, Harry glanced over to the bar, satisfied to see the man making three Butterbeers, looking even angrier than before. Harry smiled.

Hermione glanced at him quizzically. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. Her eyes watched the man as he made his way to Malfoy's table and unceremoniously set down the drinks, and turned his back before his customers could so much as register what had happened. Hermione smiled a small, almost secretive smile, and joined into the conversation between Ron and Ginny about one of George's new products at Weasley's Wizards Wheezes.

The bar had quietened again while many watched the man's journey, but normal noises resumed soon after.

Harry focused deliberately and intently on the conversation on his table. He had a suspicion Malfoy knew. He glanced up once and accidentally met Malfoy's eyes, before Malfoy turned back to whatever he was saying to Zabini.

Before long it was time to head back up to the castle, so Ron and Hermione, Harry and Ginny, left the Three Broomsticks. Harry and Ginny smirked when they saw Ron and Hermione holding hands. There was just something incredibly satisfying watching this, when the whole school had been waiting for it to happen for seven years.

* * *

><p>"<em>Look at me"<em>

_The voice, cold and high pitched, forced Harry to turn around. He found himself standing in front of a mirror, but it was not his reflection he could see._

_In the mirror, mirroring his movements, was Lord Voldemort. _

_No._

_He _was_ Voldemort._

_Harry tried to tear his eyes away from the mirror, but it was impossible._

"_I have seen your dreams, Harry Potter, and your fears." The reflection whispered._

_At each statement, an image appeared in the mirror next to Voldemort-Harry. His dreams – Ginny, his parents, his friends. His fears – dead Ginny, dead Ron and Hermione, Dementors everywhere, dead Sirius, Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Tonks._

_Harry was forced to watch as each of these images floated around the mirror. He looked back to Voldemort-Harry, looked at himself._

"_I am you," said the reflection, "And you are me... connected... always..."_

_The last word echoed around. "... always..."_

"_Always."_

Harry woke with a shuddering gasp.

He lay there in bed, shuddering and shaking, as he fought to catch his breath. His hair was plastered to his forehead in his own cold sweat.

Slowly, he groped around in the dark for his glasses, and left the dorm.

Harry settled himself in front of the Gryffindor fireplace, where only coals remained. He did not sit in a chair, but sat on the floor, legs tucked under his chin.

Around two hours later, at maybe six o'clock in the morning, the back of Harry's brain registered a noise, but he paid it no heed.

"Potter? What the fuck are you doing down here? It's bloody six a.m.!"

Harry did not appear to hear.

Malfoy approached slowly, his eyes on the still figure by the fire.

"Potter?"

Harry blinked, and then frowned. He turned towards his name and startled in surprise at how close Malfoy – _Draco Malfoy_ – was to him.

When Harry finally met Malfoy's eyes, it was not with fierce passion, or anger, or whatever Malfoy expected to see. The vivid green eyes, though quickly masked, were tortured, and looked dead and as if there was no happiness left in them.

"Malfoy? What are you – what do you want?" said Harry, struggling to focus.

"Could ask you the same thing, Potter." Malfoy drawled, hoping to keep things normal.

Harry turned around and glanced at the dying embers of the fire. "Oh, er, I couldn't sleep." He frowned. It was still dark out, so he could probably get back to bed, with no one the wiser. Except for Malfoy. "What are you doing up then anyway?"

"Fancied a drink."

"Er, ok." Said Harry. He got up, shook his body a bit, as it was rather stiff, and headed back to the dorms, to at least pretend a semblance of a full night's sleep. He left Malfoy standing out in the Common Room.

As Harry had predicted, he didn't get back to sleep. He lay in bed, feigning sleep, and waited for Ron to 'wake him up' in a few hours time, where he pretended to have enjoyed a full night's rest.

* * *

><p>Please review! They may incline me to update quicker! haha, but seriously. Flames are welcome. :)<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

a/n: i love reviews! i love you guys!

several changes made near the end...

* * *

><p>"<em>Never used an Unforgiveable before, have you Potter?"<em>

"_You've got to mean them!"_

_Excruciating pain blazed all around him, and Harry screamed and screamed, wishing it could stop, wishing it would end... the pain..._

_Harry opened his eyes to a dark room, his scar throbbing, and before him stood Neville, held immobile by a faceless Death Eater. Neville screamed as the Cruciatus Curse was used on him..._

_And then Neville was by himself, standing on the long sloping grasses of Hogwarts._

_He stood, unmoving, as the Sorting Hat was forced on his head, flames bursting around him._

_He stood there, burning and burning and burning..._

_Harry unable to look away..._

_And suddenly the flames were all around him, smoke clouding his eyes._

_He was running, running to escape the fire-demons; the chimaeras and serpents and dragons, all breathing down his neck..._

_It was so hot, so hot._

_And to his side was Malfoy with an unconscious Goyle, screaming pitifully as a flaming chimaera advanced on him..._

_Harry raced to help Malfoy, stumbling through flames and smoke, his eyes streaming. He had lost sight of Ron and Hermione, where were they?_

_Harry grabbed Malfoy's arm and dragged, trying to pull him away... but Malfoy wasn't moving, so petrified with fear..._

_And then they were running, running, bumping into flaming objects and stumbling over unrecognisably charred..._

_And suddenly a fire-dragon was upon them, its flaming tail sweeping out behind them._

_Harry and Malfoy swerved to avoid it but it was too late – the fiery jaws opened wide –_

Harry awoke with a gasp. He gave a shuddering cough, as if trying to dispel the smoke caught in his lungs. He put a hand to his forehead to try to still the shaking of his body.

It what almost seemed to be routine, he rolled out of bed and grabbed his homework. Instead of going down to the common room, however, Harry went out onto the balcony, the frigid air a cool counterbalance to the feel of flames licking at his skin.

When Ron sat down next to him a few hours later, Harry could feel the heat radiating off him, warming his frozen skin.

Ron just sat there silently, so Harry continued his homework, forcing his frozen hands to move across the parchment, describing wand movements for Charms. He knew Ron wanted to say something, but Harry wasn't going to help him get there.

"Mate, these nightmares, you need to see someone."

"I don't need to see anyone, Ron, they're just dreams," said Harry. He continued his homework resolutely, refusing to look up. He began adding a few diagrams to the descriptions.

"But they're not," Ron insisted. "These are nightmares!"

"Yeah, and you have them too. So does Hermione. Even Malfoy had one a few nights back." This was true, Harry and Ron had indeed found Malfoy moaning and thrashing around in bed, one word clearly distinguished through all the moaning, repeated over and over "Crabbe... no Crabbe come back..."

"Yeah but we don't have them every few nights, Harry. We have them occasionally, and then we roll over and go back to sleep. You wake up screaming bloody murder, and then can't get back to sleep, even if it's two o'clock in the morning."

Ron turned to Harry earnestly. "Please, Harry."

Harry felt a stab of guilt through his gut as he answered his best friend curtly, "I'm dealing with it Ron."

Ron continued to look at him, as if the harder he stared, Harry would break down and confess everything.

"Honestly." He forced out a smile. "I'm fine, Ron."

Ron looked unconvinced, but he dragged Harry down to breakfast anyway.

That next night saw Harry making his way to detention with Dawlish. When Harry knocked on the office door and was allowed entry, he was surprised at the changes Dawlish had made to the room. When Dolores Umbridge had lived here, the room had been a disgusting pink, with pictures of cats everywhere. The teacher before, the imposter Mad-Eye Moody, had had Dark catching equipment all around. The room had been full of interesting artefacts and aquariums of intriguing animals when Remus Lupin had been professor.

Now, the room was almost completely bare. It was like Dawlish had never unpacked, apart from a few loose sheets of parchment on the desk. It confused Harry. Wasn't Dawlish an Auror? Shouldn't he have any sort of Dark detectors, even just a Sneakoscope? And yet the walls were empty too, no diagrams of defensive jinxes, no examples of illegal curses, not even a photo of family or anything.

Harry's eyes were drawn to Dawlish, who was leaning back in his chair, feet resting on the desk, hands behind his head. He grinned at Harry, almost sadistically.

"Tonight you will be writing lines, Potter." Dawlish pointed to a tiny desk and chair in the back corner of the room, something Harry had failed to notice. It had a spare piece of parchment lying on it.

Harry nodded and dropped his bag at the foot of the chair and sat down. He grabbed a quill and ink before he ground out, "What am I writing? Sir."

Dawlish grinned again. "You may write: I am not the saviour of the Wizarding World, just an attention seeking little boy. You'll write until I say so."

A muscle in Harry's jaw twitched. He nodded again and began to write.

_I am not the saviour of the Wizarding World, just an attention seeking little boy._

Harry stabbed the parchment furiously when dotting an 'i', making a small hole.

"You know," came Dawlish's voice, "I'm surprised you let it get this far. Do people know how conceited their little Chosen One is? How he would do anything for just a little bit of attention?"

_Block him out, block him out,_ Harry chanted.

"I mean, all these rubbish rumours going round, you survived the Killing Curse a second time... what a load of dragon dung, it was a fluke the first time, how could it happen a second time?"

_I am not the saviour of the Wizarding World, just an attention seeking little boy._

"And here you sit, thinking so highly of yourself, correcting your teachers, when they know best. You're a seventeen year old little boy, how in Merlin's name can you possibly be better?"

Harry was gripping his quill so hard it snapped. He bent to retrieve a new one from his bag.

"I, unlike you, Potter, am an Auror. Which means that I have much more experience, and know much more than you. You are an attention seeking brat, Potter, and it is my duty to keep you humbled."

With an almighty crack, the chair beneath Dawlish vanished, and Dawlish hit the ground, his head bouncing with a resounding noise. He scrambled up and smoothed his hair back in an effort to remain calm.

Harry fought to keep his face neutral.

"Potter!" Dawlish snarled, his face contorting with rage.

"Sir," said Harry, trying to sound confused. He discreetly made sure both his hands were visible, nowhere near his wand, so Dawlish had no reason to blame him.

Dawlish stopped for a moment, seemingly in thought. "Keep writing lines!" he snarled, and walked out of the room.

Harry sighed.

_I am not the saviour of the Wizarding World, just an attention seeking little boy._

So, he still could do occasional wandless magic, could he? Alright, so Dawlish was making him angry, taunting him, knowing he wasn't going to bite. But Hogwarts was supposed to teach him to control his magic. Snape would have said it was because he was a Gryffindor, always wearing his heart on his sleeve, his emotions always getting the better of him. Yet he had never seen anyone else lose control...

Well, thought Harry, it wasn't like he had ever had a normal life.

A few hours passed without the return of Dawlish, and Harry had written lines on over twenty inches of parchment.

When Dawlish finally returned, Harry was almost falling asleep, it felt so late. Dawlish dismissed him and Harry returned to West Tower.

It was indeed late, almost midnight, when Harry got to his dorm. His dorm mates were all asleep, so he slunk across the room and slipped into bed.

The next few days passed in a blur. The first Quidditch match of the season was approaching fast and Ginny had her team training almost nightly, to get them into working order. Over the summer holidays, Ginny had found new drills to try out on her team, for all members.

Harry was now attempting various adaptations to the Wronskei Feint, while the Chasers were practicing what Ginny called the "Woollongong Shimmy." The Beaters were on the far side of the field, whacking a bludger between them.

Even Ron had picked up his skills substantially, even just at training. Harry suspected it may have been winning several Quidditch Cups, in the last few years, as well as everything that had happened over the last year, factoring to boost up his confidence.

Harry was also glad Ginny was Captain. Over the last year, Harry had had all the attention he needed in the world. He didn't need or want to be in the spotlight anymore, and did not resent Ginny for claiming the title of Captain. He could see how much it affected her, how much it meant to her, and how she seemed to glow, especially after a good training session. He couldn't wait to see what she would be like after winning a game.

Harry heard a whistle blow and turned in the air to see Ginny calling them all in.

"Alright, good training session guys! Let's pack it up and we can discuss the upcoming match against Hufflepuff."

Meeting back on the field, the team sat in a small circle, in what Ginny called her "campfires" to discuss tactics, the upcoming match, and the opposing team.

The Hufflepuff Quidditch team this year had gone through some large changes, and basically the only player Harry knew was Zacharias Smith, an annoying guy who was almost the Hufflepuff version of Malfoy. Harry knew him through Dumbledore's Army, the defence club Harry had set up in his fifth year.

"So basically we don't know much about how the Hufflepuffs will fair against us." Ginny was saying, "We've seen how they train, they seem to be a decent team this year, but we also know, as Hufflepuffs, they play fair, and their Beaters are almost always useless."

"And if their Beaters are useless, then we don't have to worry about them so much," said Jimmy Peakes, "And we can focus on bludgering their Chasers, or their Seeker."

"Exactly," said Ginny, nodding her head. She turned to Harry. "And their Seeker isn't all that great, he only has a Cleansweep Eight. He's in my year and he's a bit daft. Try using the Wronskei Feint on him." Ginny grinned wickedly at him, and Harry returned the grin, just as wickedly. He remembered the Seeker for the Irish Quidditch team, Lynch. Lynch had crashed into the ground several times in the Quidditch World Cup of 1994, after following the Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum in a Wronskei Feint.

Ginny turned to the Chasers. "If we can pull off the Woollongong Shimmy, I think, since we're against Hufflepuff, that we might succeed in distracting them enough to completely confuse them, which should give us almost free reign."

Demelza and Dean were grinning. They had worked hard all week on the Shimmy, and they still had another week to perfect it.

Ginny moved on to Ron. "Just focus on the ball, dear brother. Ignore whatever the crowd is saying. It's just you and the ball in the whole world, no one else. Remember that."

Ron gave a small smile. Everyone knew how temperamental his playing could be, and how nervous he could get. Everyone also knew Ginny would curse him into the next week with her special Bat-Bogeys if he let his nerves get the better of him.

Eventually training finished completely, and everyone wandered up to the castle in dribs and drabs, through the darkening lawns. Ron walked with Ginny and Harry uncomfortably as the latter held hands and acted like the couple they were. When they reached the cross-section of corridors that would take them in separate directions, Harry shooed Ron off, claiming he could get back to West Tower by himself. After all, it was just round the corner.

Harry and Ginny could distinctly hear Ron grumbling as he walked off.

It was here that the two shared a few stolen a kisses, a slow goodbye. They were backed into a dark recess, near a suit of armour, and they were covered in shadows.

Harry brushed his lips against Ginny's, and she pulled at his shoulders to bring him closer to her, and deepened the kiss. He rubbed her hip, moving his thumb in little circles. Ginny had one hand on his shoulder, the other wound tightly into his hair, not letting him go.

They pulled apart for a moment, panting. Harry leant his forehead against hers. They stood there like that, searching each other's eyes, dark brown into emerald green. Slowly Harry began to brush kisses all over her face, on each cheek, her eyelids. The corner of her mouth. Ginny turned into that kiss, moving her tongue along his lips. Their lips met again in fiery passion, melding their bodies together, moving as if they were one person.

Too soon, Ginny broke it off, and pulled him into a hug. She rested her head on his shoulder. Harry kissed her hair.

"Curfew, eh?" he murmured, a little out of breath. Ginny nodded into his shoulder.

She suddenly pushed Harry away, winked, and pranced off down the corridor.

Harry chuckled, and headed back to the West Tower.

It was most definitely a routine for Harry now. Wake up early, start homework. Wake up from terrifying dream, start homework. Some nights he got almost a solid eight hours, most nights he was sleeping from three hours to five hours, tops. The dreams were still regular, and Harry couldn't believe they were something new every time. He would have thought they had exhausted all the topics of nightmare-quality experiences by now.

Things in the dorm with the Slytherins were slowly improving, as well. Harry almost never baited the Slytherins, preferring a peaceable atmosphere, however Ron sometimes couldn't resist. The Slytherins themselves, Malfoy and Zabini, often tried to bait Harry, and occasionally Ron, but it never ended in anything, and they were slowly giving up. Terry Boot, ever the peace keeper, was never baited, never did bait, and he was more often than not the one to break up whatever fights started.

One day, however, as Halloween approached, Malfoy took things too far.

"It really is no surprise that we got off at the Death Eater trials, after all the Malfoy name is rather highly valued in certain circles," Malfoy was saying loudly to Zabini one night.

"Yeah but everyone still knows you were in the thick of it, Malfoy." Ron muttered.

"Did I ask for your opinion Weaslebee?" Asked Malfoy, one perfect eyebrow raised mockingly.

Ron rolled his eyes and continued getting ready for bed.

"Yes, what I was saying," Malfoy continued loudly, "Is that we have connections. Father talks to the right people, you know."

"For Merlin's sake Malfoy, it wasn't your father with the connections who got you off!" Ron snarled.

"What do you mean, Weasley?" asked Malfoy slowly.

"I mean – I just... uh..."

Ron trailed off, catching the glare from Harry. He began to backpedal. "Uh, talk to your mother! She would be the one to know..."

"Why would my mother know? She's not the one with connections. Stop hiding behind Potter, Weasley."

Ron glanced at Harry, panic in his eyes. Everyone in the room knew that Ron was slowly digging his own grave.

"Oh," said Malfoy, "Are you just trying to join the conversation, Weasley, do you want to feel _included_?"

Ron scowled, but looked thankful the conversation was turning again.

Harry tuned the conversation out after a while, it really was just Malfoy bragging about things he actually didn't know anything about. Ron even started snoring softly.

"... Yes, I learnt fascinating things from my Aunt Bellatrix, she was an extraordinary witch." Came Malfoy's voice as he responded to something from Zabini.

Harry perked his ears up. What on earth were they talking about?

"It was such a pity the Weasel's mum put an end to that, Aunt Bella was really the life of our family..."

Harry sat up abruptly. Bellatrix Lestrange, a good aunt?

"Something I can help you with Potter?" Malfoy drawled, noticing Harry's movements.

"I was just wondering," said Harry, keeping his voice level, "If you actually did feel repentant for what happened during the war? You were allowed off on probation, after all."

"How did you – know one is supposed to know my sentencing, Potter."

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "I have connections. And I was wondering how you felt about your aunt, if she had never died, there is no way she would have escaped a life sentence to Azkaban."

"Ah, but Potter, didn't I say my family has good connections? Of course we could have got her off. We could have just said she was too frightened to do anything."

Harry stared at Malfoy. He got up slowly. "Your aunt, so afraid of Voldemort – " Harry watched in satisfaction as Malfoy and Zabini flinched, " – that she tortured countless people, tortured Hermione right in front of you?"

"She's a mudblood, Potter." Even as Malfoy said it, he knew it would not help as Harry built up his argument.

"Your aunt, who tortured Neville's parents into insanity, _after_ Voldemort had fallen the first time?" Harry asked.

He slowly advanced on Malfoy, the whole dorm silent, even Ron's snoring had stopped.

"Well – "

"Your aunt, who orphaned a three month old little boy?"

Malfoy remained silent, defiantly meeting Harry's eyes.

"Your aunt," Harry began, his voice so soft it was barely heard, "who murdered her own cousin, murdered the only family I had left?"

Harry was now so close to Malfoy they were within punching distance.

"... was a blood traiter..." Malfoy mumbled.

At that, Harry did indeed punch Malfoy. Hard. In the face.

Zabini gave a yell and leapt up as Malfoy fell sprawling to the ground, his nose bleeding.

"You may not have been a willing participant in the war, Malfoy. But your aunt was. She took joy in hurting others just like the worst of the Death Eaters. She may have been your aunt, and I may never understand the real values of family, thanks to your wonderful leader, but your mother does. And that is who you should learn from, not a sadist." Said Harry contemptuously.

He left the dorm, slamming the door on his way out.

"You really are an idiot, Malfoy." Ron's voice floated over.

Harry growled as he exited the dorm. He headed to the outside exit of West Tower, and stomped out to the lake. He found his little tree and sat down.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. In, out. In, out.

This tree seemed to bring back the memories, he noticed. The Memory Tree. Harry smiled slightly.

He remembered the terror he had felt when Bellatrix had tortured Hermione, how Ron had been so frantic, bellowing Hermione's name, unable to listen to reason. That night had been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life. This was the result his friends paid for being his friends.

He remembered how embarrassed Neville had been, when they had met him in St Mungo's, at Christmas time in fifth year. Felt the overwhelming sympathy and pity when they had first seen Neville's parents, driven to insanity.

Harry remembered Sirius. His Godfather, his family.

The moon reflected palely on the dark surface of the lake

He sat there for hours, lost in thought.

The next day, Halloween, dawned bright and early, for Harry at least. Plagued by nightmares, he had finished off all of his homework, so he didn't actually have anything to do, for the first time in years. It was weird. He felt like Hermione.

The feast that night was spectacular, with delicious Halloween themed food, and decorations around the Great Hall to match. There were all sorts of pumpkin scones, pumpkin soups, roast pumpkin and more. There were amazing Halloween cakes, decorated in fake spiders and amazing icing.

The entire room was filled with such a happy atmosphere, from first years to eighth years, the teachers chatting animatedly and the students bouncing around excitedly. Harry noticed with high satisfaction that Malfoy, although no longer sporting a black eye – it had been mended in a trice – looked highly disgruntled, despite the festivities. To Harry's left, Ron was hoeing into the food as if there was no tomorrow, and many people surrounding him seemed to be making a conscious effort to look away. To Harry's left, Hermione was chatting animatedly with Nearly Headless Nick about the rights of house-elves in the fourteen hundreds.

He smiled as Ginny caught his eye further down the table and she winked at him, before returning to converse with the girl next to her. She seemed to have an obsession with winking at him...

Harry dug happily into his treacle tart, one of his favourite desserts at Hogwarts. It, too, had a dash of Halloween, as someone had carefully covered it in edible spider webs, tasting of honey and cream.

That night in the dorm was one of the best nights so far, two months into the school year. Harry, Terry and Ron duelled each other with some of Fred and George's old fake wands, and Malfoy and Zabini acted quite civil to the three, Malfoy seemingly humbled from the previous night.

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><p>please review?<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

a/n: sorry for the slow update! i got bogged in with uni work...

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><p>The day of the first Quidditch match of the season saw Harry once again finishing homework in the Common Room in front of the fire, having awoken from yet another nightmare. In the latest dream the Burrow had been attacked, just like at Bill and Fleur's wedding, and he couldn't move, could only watch as the Weasleys and Hermione were murdered one by one.<p>

It wasn't long until the rest of the Quidditch team came down the stairs, and they all headed off to the Great Hall for the usual early before-game breakfast.

When he saw Ginny, Harry couldn't help it, he grabbed Ginny's hand, he needed the reassurance that she was alive and with him. Both Ron and Ginny looked at him a little strangely, but he also thought he saw comprehension in Ron's eyes, and love and understanding in Ginny's.

Harry made sure to stay in conversation at the table, pushing his food around his plate, keeping a babble of words and reassurances flowing to Ron and forcing him to eat as his face turned greyer and greyer, his hand never leaving Ginny's.

Once at the change rooms, Ginny began her pre-match lecture.

"As it's getting colder and colder, being early November, I want all of you to remember to keep moving. It may be basic enough to think of, but we need to keep those fingers moving and unfrozen," She was saying. "I want everyone, mainly Chasers, to avoid flying into the sun.

She continued until they could hear the distant roar of the crowd, and deemed ready to play. Ginny reluctantly pulled her hand out of Harry's. "Right team, let's knock 'em dead!"

Harry clapped Ron on the back, and Ron gave him a weak smile.

"Ron you've done it before, just wait until you get in the moment, you'll be great." Harry reassured him.

The team burst out into fresh, cold air to a roar of cheers and the faint boos coming from the Slytherin and Hufflepuff parts of the crowd. They all waited as their names were called one by one by the commentator sitting next to McGonagall.

Harry squinted. He thought he recognised the voice of the commentator, but he couldn't see who it was.

The whistle blew and they were off. Harry soared above the pitch as Ginny and the Chasers zoomed down towards the goals. He spotted the Hufflepuff Seeker, a weedy-looking fifth year called Owen Cauldwell.

Harry scanned the pitch as Gryffindor scored the first goal.

" – and Gryffindor seem to do no wrong as Dean Thomas intercepts a pass between the two Hufflepuff Chasers Smith and Cadwallader! Dean passes to Ginny and Gryffindor score! 20 – 0 to Gryffindor!"

The voice of the commentator was much closer now, so Harry peeked a look and almost fell off his broom in surprise.

Sat in the stands next to Professor McGonagall, shouting animatedly into the voice projector, was tiny little Dennis Creevey. Now a fifth year, he didn't seem to have grown much in his four years at Hogwarts, and looked decidedly scrawny, with obvious weary lines under his eyes.

Of course, Harry realised, Dennis's older brother Colin didn't survive the war. People didn't just forget about what had happened, and George Weasley was a prime example.

Harry flew around the pitch slowly, looking for the snitch, but also trying to watch the game. Ron was doing alright. He had let a few in, but he was also making some spectacular saves.

" – And the Gryffindor Chasers succeed in confusing the Hufflepuff Chasers by using a much perfected Woollongong Shimmy, Gryffindor now up by 60 points!"

Satisfied the game was going well, Harry returned his attention to snitch searching. He noted the Hufflepuff Seeker, Cauldwell, was also looking for the snitch, but was more closely watching Harry, and was far closer than necessary.

Harry ducked a bludger aimed by Hufflepuff and ducked again as Jimmy Peakes pelted after it, hitting it successfully at the Hufflepuff Chaser with the quaffle, who proceeded to drop it.

He noticed Cauldwell was barely five metres away now. Harry narrowed his eyes slightly and a mysterious smirk crept over his face.

Without warning, he dove, hurtling towards the ground.

"Has the Gryffindor Seeker Harry Potter seen the snitch? It certainly looks like it as Cauldwell pelts after him!" Dennis squeaked, his voice resounding over the pitch.

Harry barely suppressed a grin as he sped towards the ground, for all intent hot in pursuit. Cauldwell was right on his tail.

Harry pulled out of the dive suddenly and Cauldwell was left with the ground zooming up. Cauldwell visibly struggled to reign in his broomstick, and only just managed to stop himself from plowing into the ground, tumbling softly over the tip of his broomstick, less than a metre onto the soft grass of the pitch.

" – And Harry Potter seems to have pulled off a Wronskei Feint, leaving Cauldwell in the grass behind him."

Harry was now far above the pitch again, view temporarily unhindered by the worry of another Seeker. He glanced down as Cauldwell clumsily mounted his broom.

It was at that moment that Harry saw an unusual glint near Ron's goalposts, far away. Harry bent low over his broomstick, the crowd a dull roar, his mind focused entirely on the tiny golden ball now dancing under Ron's left arm.

He dodged a bludger, and stretched out his arm. He caught a glimpse of Ron's bewildered face before his cold fingers clamped around the snitch.

He pulled up and whirled around, catching Ron in a mid-air hug as the rest of the team caught up. In the distance, Harry saw Cauldwell speeding towards the Hufflepuff team, from the other side of the pitch.

Dennis was almost drowned out by the Gryffindors cheers as he yelled out the score.

The final score, as many people had to ask again, was 260 to 40.

That night, the Gryffindors celebrated in their common room like they had won the Grand Final. Many of the eighth years were welcomed into their old common room, so the room was absolutely packed. Someone had gone to the kitchens and brought up stocks of butterbeer, cakes, pasties, even some of Fred and George's prank foods, like the Canary Creams.

Harry sat contentedly around the fireplace with his group of friends, a butterbeer in hand and Ginny at his side. It was a wonderful feeling to have a reason to be happy, and a right to feel happy. It was a long time of analysing the game from every different angle before the eighth years began to head off, and once Harry started yawning, there was nothing he could do to stop Hermione dragging him back to the West Tower. He gave a hurried goodbye to Ginny before Ron unceremoniously dragged him through the portrait hole.

"It was lovely to see you again, dears," called the Fat Lady from her portrait.

They each murmured something back, heading off down the dark corridors together.

* * *

><p><em>Dumbledore was slouched upon a rock on a small island, in a dark, dark cave, his eyes closed, tears trickling down his cheeks.<em>

"_Please, professor, you must drink this, please!" cried Harry._

_Dumbledore, still with his eyes closed, shook his head. Harry prodded the cup in his hands at the closed lips, its contents threatening to spill over._

_Slowly Dumbledore opened his mouth, and Harry poured the last of the vile potion down his headmasters throat. Dumbledore slouched more, looking as if he was dead._

"_Wait, no, professor, wake up!" Harry yelled desperately._

_And suddenly Snape was there._

"_Please, you have to help him Professor Snape!"_

_Snape ignored Harry and crouched over Dumbledore's still form. He pointed his wand at the old man's chest. "Avada Kedavra!" _

_Harry reeled back in horror and Snape turned the wand on him, Snape's eyes glowing an eerie red._

_Harry stumbled back and fell into the dark water surrounding the island._

_He began struggling frantically, as bubbled burst from his mouth, as clammy, rotting hands began grappling at him, dragging him under, away from the surface..._

_And suddenly the hands were gone._

_He floated in the water, no idea where up was, his lungs bursting for air._

"_They're over there you know," a voice suddenly said. "The mermaids."_

_Harry turned around to see Moaning Myrtle floating lazily towards him._

_He gaped, allowing precious oxygen to escape. She giggled and disappeared._

_He swam in the direction she had pointed out, his lungs slowly taking in water, although he was not drowning, yet._

_He swam around a rock and was confronted with the sight of hundreds of mermaids, surrounding hostages. He swam closer to see Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and for whatever reason, Neville, tied to thick ropes. The mermaids slowly parted for him. He was now within a few metres from the hostages, and as he got closer, he realised something._

_They were all dead. Their faces were purpling and bloated, bits of skin peeled off and floating around. One of Hermione's eyes was out of its socket, floating carelessly against her cheek._

_Harry gave a low, bubbling moan, and suddenly the lack of oxygen was too much, he began to take deep breaths, inhaling water, choking, drowning._

Harry woke up with a gurgling gasp, choking on his own saliva. His sheets were twisted all around him and he could barely breathe, they had constricted so tightly around his chest.

He wrenched away the covers and leapt out of bed, desperate to be free. Unfortunately his foot was still tangled, and he fell with a loud _thump_. He lay still, recovering his breath, foot still tangled, and he waited for noise that he had woken someone up.

"Potter?"

Harry cursed. Why, out of all the people in the room, why, when it was always Ron who woke up, why was it Malfoy?

Harry didn't move, hoping Malfoy would lose interest. Instead, a blurry, pale form leaned into view.

"What the hell are you doing, Potter?"

"Fell." Harry grunted.

The humanoid blur crouched down, so Harry could almost clearly see Malfoy's face, except for the darkness.

"I can see that," said Malfoy, the characteristic smirk absent from his face. "And you're all sweaty and stinky."

Harry glared at what he could see. "Are you going to help me out of this death trap of a bed or not?"

Malfoy stared at him for a moment longer, his face inscrutable, before he swiftly moved and released Harry's foot, letting it thud onto the ground.

"Thanks," Harry said grudgingly. He swiped his glasses off his bedside table and left the dorm, leaving Malfoy standing in the dark.

At breakfast, a few hours later, Harry pushed around the food on his plate as Hermione nattered on about their latest Charms essay. He frowned, staring at the half eaten sausage on his plate.

"Harry," said Hermione sharply, "Are you alright? You're awfully quiet this morning."

"Er, just tired, is all," he said hastily.

"I'll say," said Ron.

Hermione looked at him suspiciously, but she continued he previous discussion, moving onto Transfiguration.

Transfiguration that morning was a rather interesting lesson, as they were finally into the stages of transfiguring parts of their bodies into innate objects. Surrounding Professor Tuggen at the front of the classroom were generic objects; books, stools, rulers, a cuckoo clock.

Professor Tuggen was quite like Professor Flitwick in some respects, as he, too, was short with a high pitched voice. But that was about where the resemblances ended. Tuggen was incredibly strict on the goings on in his classroom, and he very easily gave out detentions, the eighth years quickly discovered. The essay topics he set were difficult to write and hard to find enough information on, but he was a very adept teacher, a worthy replacement of Professor McGonagall, who was now headmistress.

"Remember," he squeaked as the class prepared to begin their spellwork, "to incant _silently_. I wish to see none of you muttering or yelling pointlessly."

Harry grimaced. Silent spells had been required in classes since sixth year, but it was still a great inconvenience, especially when practicing new spells.

Tuggen flicked his wand, and the objects floated out from the front of the classroom, settling themselves in front of each student.

"_Concentrate_. Now repeat after me: _Membra rei."_

The class chanted back one last time before Tuggen clapped his hands, dismissing them to the task."

In front of Harry sat a stool. The stool was merely for image purposes, as he was supposed to transfigure his foot into the stool. Harry eyed it dubiously. Tuggen had said that even if it was not fully transfigured, it would not hurt. He glanced over to see Hermione waving her wand furiously at her own foot, attempting to turn it into a footrest.

Ron was purple in the face, his lips moving soundlessly.

Harry hastily turned to his own task, and thinking firmly, _Membra rei,_ he waved his wand over his foot. Nothing happened, which was not unexpected. He continued to chant silently.

"You must really see your limb as the object, don't just imagine it, _see_ it!" Tuggen's voice interrupted.

Harry rolled his eyes and continued his attempts. However it was at that moment that Ron gave a great shout.

Harry turned his head around, almost expecting to see Ron with a clock for a leg, instead to see a large tiger sitting on Ron's desk. Harry gave a yell and scrambled back as most of the class ran for the exit. The tiger leapt off the desk and began prowling around, trotting after Parvati Patil's robe as it whipped through the exit.

"Not to worry, not to worry," said Tuggen. He waved his wand and the tiger immediately vanished, to the relief of the students. He turned around to locate Ron, hiding at the back of the group. "Detention, Weasley."

By the end of the lesson, only Hermione had managed to make her foot look anything like her footrest, and it was not a full transfiguration either.

"How on earth did you do that?" asked Harry as they all headed back to the Great Hall for lunch.

Ron shrugged. He had absolutely no idea what he had done. But then, it wasn't always a surprise when Ron or Neville, or Harry for that matter, ended up doing something they had no knowledge of.

"Bit unfair he gave me detention though." Ron grumbled.

Harry heaped food onto his plate, but made no attempt to eat it. He just wasn't hungry. He had no idea when it had happened, but lately he had been eating less and less, and he had no idea why. He just wasn't hungry.

"Harry," Hermione interrupted his thoughts, "Eat. You've been losing weight."

Hermione and her keen observation skills. Harry rolled his eyes and bit into a ham sandwich. It tasted like dirt, so he put it back down once she had looked away. He took a bite out of a hard-boiled egg, with the same result. Waving his wand under the table, he slowly vanished a few of the bits of food from his plate, making sure Hermione didn't know.

He groaned, getting up from the table, dragging his feet behind Ron and Hermione on the way to potions. His body was so tired. Everything ached.

The week progressed, and Harry's body felt worse and worse. He barely forced down half a meal at dinner, and he still didn't know why. He knew his body needed the energy, but it didn't seem to want it.

Ron's detention occurred on Thursday night, and it was with glum trepidation that he parted with Hermione and Harry.

Harry, with nothing better to do, followed Hermione to the library so she could work on an essay Harry had already finished.

Harry settled into an uncomfortable chair across from Hermione and closed his eyes. He shuffled around a bit, listening to the scrapings of Hermione's quill across the parchment. Time seemed to go very slowly at that stage, or very quickly, Harry wasn't sure. He kept his eyes resolutely closed, hoping he might actually go to sleep, for once.

It was a while later that he felt Hermione tickling him with her quill. He opened one eye and looked at her. "I wasn't asleep," he said.

"I know," she said sadly. "Harry, you really have lost weight, you know."

He continued to look at her with one eye closed.

"You have! And I really think you should see Madam Pomfrey about it, or something!"

"I'm fine, Hermione."

"You really are hopeless, you know. Come on," she said, packing everything back into her bag.

Harry stood up, and wobbled. His eyes fogged over for a moment. He grabbed the table for support and noticed Hermione looking at him.

"Stood up to quickly," he explained.

She pursed her lips.

Glancing at his watch, Harry noticed it was barely 9.30.

"You finished quick," he said to Hermione, following her out of the library.

"Well I am rather adept at this, you know," she smiled.

They took a shortcut through a tapestry on the wall, and came out only one floor away from the West Tower.

Harry faltered, and frowned. He stopped completely and put a hand on the wall to support himself.

He thought he saw Hermione, thought he saw her call out in alarm.

He tilted over, and the world went black.

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><p>Ron was just getting ready for bed, having spent over three hours cleaning old books of rot and mould, and restoring charms on breaking down books.<p>

Suddenly, a silvery otter burst into the room, and all the inhabitants, Slytherins, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor glanced up.

Ron stilled, he would know that patronus anywhere.

Hermione's voice echoed through the room.

"Ron," it said, "Harry collapsed. Get to the hospital wing now."

The otter vanished.

Ron cursed and began throwing some more decent clothes back on.

"Weasley, what was that, what did it mean?" Malfoy demanded.

Ron ignored him.

He dashed out of the room.

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><p>When Harry woke up, the first thing he noticed was that everything was white. The second thing he noticed was that everything was blurry. He reached for his glasses, and comprehension dawned as he realised that he was in the hospital wing. But why? He remembered leaving the library... and he collapsed.<p>

"Harry, oh Harry, you gave us such a fright!"

Hermione bounced into view, and then Ron and Ginny.

"I collapsed?"

"Yeah, mate. Hermione had to levitate you the whole way here," said Ron, the small smile on his lips overshadowed by worry.

At that moment Madam Pomfrey bustled in. "Of all the times you've been in here..." she muttered indistinctly.

"You collapsed out of exhaustion," she said briskly. "I assume your appetite has dropped recently?

"Er, yeah..." said Harry.

"How many hours of sleep do you get every night?" she asked, now waving her wand over his body.

"Er..." He really didn't want to answer these questions.

"Less than five hours every night, most nights only two or three." Ron cut in.

Harry glared at him.

"Only two or three? Whatever for? NEWTS aren't for another six months!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed.

"He has nightmares. Almost every night. And then he can't get back to sleep afterwards."

This time Harry turned his glare on Hermione. She stared back at him fiercely. "Don't deny it Harry!"

"Nightmares?"

Harry looked away. "Since the war," he muttered.

"Well whyever didn't you come to me in the first pace, you silly boy?" demanded Pomfrey, an almost angry expression marring with a look of pity.

"... not weak..." Harry muttered almost inaudibly.

He felt Ginny's hand creep into his own, and for once he wasn't sure if he wanted it there. He didn't want pity. He glanced at Ginny, and almost immediately felt ashamed. He knew Ginny better than that by now, didn't he?

He expression was supportive, not a trace of pity in sight. She knew him, and he knew her. He squeezed her hand in return.

"Well this simply will not do," Pomfrey stated. She bustled around and came back with a box full of potions. "These are dreamless sleep potions. I want you to take one every night before you go to sleep, the whole thing. No buts, Potter. It will guarantee you around seven hours sleep, maybe a little more." She glared at him, as if daring him to refuse.

"Now I'm going to keep you here for the rest of the night, and tomorrow night as well. You need rest, and you need food. You three may stay for another few minutes, but after that I'm kicking you out. He needs his sleep."

And with that, she hustled out of the room.

Harry sunk his head into his pillow and avoided looking at Ron and Hermione.

"Mate, we could hardly help it, you're the one collapsing all over the place," said Ron.

"Yeah, I know," muttered Harry.

Conversation lapsed, and although Harry was reluctant to look at them, he was glad of their company.

Soon enough, Madam Pomfrey came and shooed them all out, and forced some potion down Harry's throat. He drifted off to a dreamless sleep almost immediately.

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><p>Reviews would be lovely :)<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

a/n: sorry it took me so long!

i would like to thank the awesome purplepeopleeater78 for helping me brainstorm, mainly with this chapter :P

i would also like to point out that this plot seems to have taken a life of its own, it isnt following the path i thought it would. but i still love writing it!

all your reviews are so lovely!

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><p>When Harry left the hospital wing two days later, he almost felt like another person. Getting two nights of completely uninterrupted sleep could do that to a person.<p>

"Make sure you come back every week for more potions!" Madam Pomfrey yelled after him as he hastily stowed a small box of Dreamless Sleep vials in one of his inner robe pockets.

He waved a hand at her and headed back to the West Tower.

It was only Ron, Hermione and Ginny who knew why he was hospitalised. The rest of the eighth years, however, did not. Walking through the door, he was almost immediately bombarded with questions. After all, he was hardly a person people didn't notice or recognise, so a prolonged absence was bound to make some people wonder.

"Harry, mate, where've you been?" exclaimed Dean Thomas, grabbing Harry's shoulder.

Harry shrugged.

"Yeah, we heard you were hospitalised! What happened?" asked Seamus Finnigan.

"Ah, well, you know what things are like at Hogwarts, Seamus, people blowing up feathers or cauldrons..."

Harry tried to wave of the questions, but he couldn't help noticing that many of the other students in the room were staring at him interestedly.

"Fell off my broom at Quidditch training," he said loudly.

Most heads turned back to whatever they were doing before; homework, chess, conversations.

Dean and Seamus looked at him with almost identical expressions.

"I'm on your team, remember?" said Dean.

Harry flushed, scratching the back of his head. The hidden box of potions seemed to clink nervously against his leg. "Er, right. Er, got to go." He said hastily, slipping out of Dean's grip and darting off to the dorm where, thankfully, neither could follow him.

The dorm was empty, so he snuck over to his bed and stowed the potions in the top draw of his bedside table.

He heard the door creak and he slammed the draw shut hurriedly, but it was only Ron.

"Shit, Ron!"

"Sorry," Ron said, not looking sorry at all. "Is that them, then?" he nodded to the draw Harry had just shut.

Harry nodded reluctantly, not looking at Ron.

Ron shook his head amusedly. "Harry, you need to get it through your thick head that we aren't judging you, we don't think you're weak!"

"Yeah, but you're not waking up screaming from nightmares every other night are you?" snapped Harry.

"That's not because we're stronger than you, Harry," Ron said gently, "It's because we've seen and done less, we don't have half as much nightmare material stowed in our memories."

Harry still refused to look at him.

"If anything, you're the one that's stronger than us."

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched. "Oh stop it," he sighed, flapping a hand at Ron. "Fine, you win, I'm strong. Happy?"

"Not particularly," said Ron, now grinning.

Harry sat back down on his bed and looked at Ron. Here they were, eight years later, and they had been through a lot together. Harry knew, right at that moment, that he couldn't have gotten half as far as he had without Ron. Ron, who had stood in his brother's shadows, and in Harry's, for his entire life. Ron, who had come back to Harry when he had most needed it, back in fourth year with the Triwizard Tournament, and last year when they were camping. Ron, who now stood in his own light, a survivor of war and was his own person.

Ron sat down on his own bed, across from Harry.

"The world has changed, Harry, and you're the one who gave it that final push. Don't you dare laugh!" Ron added as a bubble of laughter burst from Harry's lips.

"My one shot at being philosophical and you laugh in my face! See me never try again!" said Ron indignantly, but soon he was laughing along with Harry, the two of them feeling the freest they had been in a long time.

"Anyway," Ron continued after a time, "Christmas at the Burrow, no buts, or Mum will physically drag you there. You don't have a choice," Ron smirked.

Harry held his hands up in surrender. "Like I'd say no the woman who defeated Voldemort's highest lieutenant!"

This comment sobered them up for a moment, lost in memories.

Ron robustly steered the conversation back to the Christmas break. Apparently he and Hermione were not spending the full holiday at the Burrow, but were spending it half and half with Hermione's parents as well.

"And don't you try any funny business with Ginny while I'm not there!"

* * *

><p>The moment Harry walked through the door of the Burrow, Mrs Weasley swooped down upon him, proclaiming he was much too skinny and needed fattening up. "Oh look at you! You're much too peaky!" She exclaimed, forcefully sitting him down at the old table and plonking a heaped plate of food in front of him. Hermione, Ron and Ginny had followed Mrs Weasley in, shaking their heads bemusedly.<p>

The first few days of the holidays were spent indoors; it was far too cold and rainy to venture much further than the porch of the Burrow. Mr Weasley popped in and out, his work hours far less extreme after the end of the war. Percy had also moved back in, and so had George, temporarily, so it was a rather full house.

The first night there saw all the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione eating what seemed to be a feast. Mrs Weasley seemed to have cooked a bit of everyone's favourite dishes, and there were plenty of left overs. Despite the need for such a large table, it was a rather quiet affair. There was no Fred making jokes or exploding dinner pastries with George, and his presence almost hung over the table. No one could forget this would be the first Christmas without him. George himself was strangely subdued. Large bags were under his eyes, it appeared he hadn't shaved in a while and his hair was stringy and dull. No one could ignore the loss George was going through. The entire Weasley family felt similar, they had lost a brother, a son. It was just that George had lost half of his soul.

It was an early night for many of them, and it was without much further ado that Harry followed Ron from the living room, up to Ron's room where a camper bed had been made up for him. They could soon hear Hermione and Ginny heading off to bed, Hermione staying in Ginny's room.

A few days in, the weather had lightened up considerably, so Mrs Weasley hurried Ron, Ginny, Hermione and Harry outside for a quick bit of de-gnoming. They all competed to see who could throw their gnomes the farthest, and it was a close call between Ron and Ginny.

As Harry picked up what felt like his hundredth gnome, he had a sudden startling thought, dropping the gnome. The gnome kicked him sharply in the shin and ran off swearing, but Harry hardly noticed.

It was almost a year ago since he had seen his parents.

He stared without seeing at the trees that surrounded the property.

"Mate?"

Ron's voice seemed to bring him back to his senses. Harry cleared his throat and glanced over. Ron was standing silhouetted against the sun, holding a gnome by its two stumpy legs like he was holding a chicken. The gnome struggled, trying to bite Ron's fingers, but it wasn't flexible enough, instead scrabbling at its own kneecaps.

"Oh... just... had a thought..." mumbled Harry, his thoughts still in the clouds.

He turned away from Ron and began scrounging around for another gnome, but not before he saw Hermione scrutinising him, a small frown creasing her brow.

Harry couldn't help it, as it drew closer and closer to Christmas Eve; he began to withdraw into himself. Everyone was busy being busy, trying to escape from the inevitable fact that Fred wasn't there, but Harry didn't feel like being busy. He felt like getting lost in memories. In a way, he was thankful he was taking the Dreamless Sleep every night. He knew what he would be dreaming of, otherwise.

When Christmas Eve finally reached them, it was to say goodbye to Ron and Hermione, who would be spending Christmas with Hermione's family. Most of the Weasleys and Harry walked them beyond the anti-apparation enchantments, still there from the war.

Ron and Hermione received hugs all round. Ron gave Harry a slap on the back. "And no funny business!" he reminded sternly. Harry grinned in reply and winked.

When Hermione reached Harry, however, she pulled him aside slightly. In the pretext of wrapping her arms him, she whispered in his ear, "Take Ginny." She pressed something into his hands, and suddenly she and Ron were gone.

He looked down. In his hands was a single white lily.

Walking back to the house, Harry pulled Mrs Weasley aside, speaking softly. "After dinner, can I take Ginny somewhere? I want to show her something..."

She patted his cheek fondly. "Of course, dear."

Ginny looked at him inquiringly, but he shook his head. Instead, she linked her hand through his.

The day passed quietly, so Harry spent it with Ginny. Together, they worked on some new Quidditch drills before it started snowing. Then Harry actually managed to defeat her in a game of chess. He had never won before, as he had only ever played against Ron, so he was quite ecstatic until Ginny told him she had never really played before. When the snow stopped, Ginny dragged him out and they made snow angels.

Well, they _were_ two separate snow angels until Ginny rolled over and over to get to him, where she proceeded to snog him silly. In the end they weren't snow angels, just a large patch of half-melted, dirty snow.

After dinner, Harry excused himself from the table and rushed up to Ron's room, Ginny close behind.

He picked up the lily, discarded on his bed, and turned to Ginny.

"Dress warmly, I want to take you somewhere." He said, a little breathlessly.

Ginny was back in no time. Thank Merlin she wasn't like other girls...

Harry grabbed her hand and together they walked past the apparation boundary.

He turned to face Ginny, and she looked at him expectantly. He pecked her on the lips, then turned into the suffocating darkness.

At soon as he opened his eyes, Harry knew he was there. He had apparated to almost the exact same spot that he and Hermione had a year previously.

Ginny's hand was limp in his, so he gripped it tightly and crossed the square to approach the war memorial.

"Harry, I don't – " she said helplessly, abruptly cutting herself off as the war memorial transformed.

In its place stood a statue of a man and woman, and a baby without a scar.

Harry glanced over to see Ginny staring avidly at the statue. She raised her arm slightly, as if she wanted to reach out and touch the baby. Her mouth hung open in a small "o".

Harry himself stared at the statues of his parents. He knew it was here, had seen it before, but nothing took its affect away.

Silently, he dragged her away from the memorial. He wanted to show her the house before the graveyard.

They had to pass by the graveyard to get to the house, and Harry saw Ginny's head turn towards the cemetery as they passed, but she didn't say anything, just gripped his hand tighter.

At last they came to a stop outside the house. It was still the same as ever, the top level blasted away, the hedge overgrown and weeds all around.

Ginny released Harry's hand, and walked towards the gate. The moment she touched it, the sign rose up, and Ginny smiled sadly, reading the inscription, and the surrounding messages of support.

Harry stared hungrily at the house.

Ginny turned to face him, her eyes glazed with tears. "Come on," she whispered.

This time it was she who dragged him away, and she headed over to the graveyard. "They're in here, yes?"

He nodded, and directed her to the grave of his parents. This was the moment he had been looking for, itching for.

Ginny dropped to her knees in front of the gravestone, and pulled Harry down with her.

Ginny traced her fingers along the message_; the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

Harry wrapped an arm around her. They had no idea how long they sat like that, in the snow, in front of his parents.

Dimly he realised the lily was still clutched in his hand, so he stretched out and placed it at the foot of the headstone. He quickly rubbed at his eyes, trying to be subtle. The traces of Hermione's wreath of flowers from last year had long since gone, but the lily seemed to be a fitting replacement.

"Oh Harry," whispered Ginny. She leant her head on his shoulder and he hugged her closer.

So many emotions seemed to be whirling around Harry's head. His throat was clogged up, he wished he could have known his parents, wished his life had not resulted in their deaths. And now the war was over, he didn't want to see other people die for him, or die in general. He wanted to live a long, happy life with those he loved. He didn't want to be standing over anyone else's graves, or mourn anyone else.

He hesitated slightly.

He lightly kissed Ginny's hair, a few inches above her ear.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair, not knowing if he could voice the words at full volume, choked with emotion.

Ginny shifted to look at him and he read the rapid play of emotions over her face.

Only a hint of surprise, he noted amusedly. But there was also love, and happiness. There was so much happiness it practically made her glow.

"I know," she whispered back, smiling, "I love you too, Harry. Always have."

He kissed her temple this time, and turned back to the grave.

"Mum, Dad, meet the girl I love," he murmured.

Not long later, or it might have been quite a bit later, Harry and Ginny apparated back to the Burrow.

It was snowing softly, a sure sign the next day would be absolutely beautiful.

They tip-toed up the stairs together, Ginny clutching his arm. Despite the lateness of the hour and despite how emotionally exhausting the night was; she kept breaking out in reluctant giggles. In an effort to shut her up, he covered her mouth with his hand, but she only giggled silently and licked his hand.

He rolled his eyes and pulled her in for a kiss. That definitely shut her up.

As they reached the landing of Ginny's room, Harry stopped to kiss her goodnight, but she dragged him into her room. He followed awkwardly. Last time they had been alone in here together was on his birthday, before he began hunting horcruxes.

This time it was she who rolled her eyes.

Still holding his hand, she tumbled onto her bed, tugging him with her. Together, they curled up on top of the quilt, fully clothed. Harry curved his body around Ginny's and draped a hand over her waist. Together, they fell asleep.

The next day was Christmas. Harry was delighted and embarrassed to find his stocking as well as Ginny's at the foot of Ginny's bed, but soon got over it.

From Hermione he received a book on defensive magic; he scanned it quickly to discover that the book was full of counter-jinxes and curses perfect for NEWT level, and perfect for if he wanted to become an Auror. From Ron he received a large amount of Honeydukes chocolate. His stocking also contained various merchandise from Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, and the usual Weasley jumper, this time a dark red in colour, with a beautiful picture of a snowy white owl on the front.

What Ginny had given him surprised him the most: it was a moving, animated, authentic Harry Potter action figure. She snorted at the look on his face.

"You can't deny how awesome it is," she smirked.

When she opened her present from Harry, she gave a most un-Ginny like shriek and attacked him in a giant hug, bouncing awkwardly as they were both still sitting on her bed.

Harry had given her a set of earings, small emerald studs that glinted no matter what light they were cast in. They contrasted with her hair, and seemed to bring out some of the deeper colours in her brown eyes, like Harry had hoped they would.

Eventually, the smells of breakfast wafting from downstairs caused them both to make an appearance sometime later.

"Oh, Mrs Weasley, you shouldn't have," Harry yawned.

Everyone settled at the table, it was drastically less crowded than it had been ever before, it was almost odd.

"So where did you two disappear to last night?" Mrs Weasley asked, a mischevious glint in her eye.

Ginny rolled her eyes.

Harry focused on cutting up a sausage on his plate. "I took Ginny to meet my parents," he said, now working to cut up a piece of toast.

The table filled with silence, before Mrs Weasley said unexpectedly, "thank you dear."

Harry looked up, startled. "For what?"

He noticed Mrs Weasley's eyes looked kind of watery, so he immediately looked back down at his plate, but not before he saw Mr Weasley cover his wife's hand with his own.

"For introducing Ginny to them," said Mrs Weasley kindly.

Harry still didn't really understand why she was thanking him, but he nodded and continued eating.

'Oh," she continued, "That reminds me; Andromeda Tonks is coming over today, with Teddy, so you two had better go and dress nicely."

Again, Harry looked up. Teddy? His godson Teddy?

He soon found out it was.

Teddy was now a ten month old baby, he could almost walk, he could not talk. But he was a metamorphmagus like his mother, and within minutes of meeting Harry and the rest of the Weasleys, had developed a shock of red hair, green eyes, and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

Mrs Weasley, of course, was absolutely smitten, she positively cooed over Teddy, and would try to hold him while she was cooking.

Thankfully, Andromeda took him back at that stage.

She drew Harry to one side and thrust Teddy into his hands.

"He's your godson. I'll be back."

She wandered off and Harry's brain hit overdrive. What in the name of Merlin was he supposed to do with a baby? He had never handled babies before! He barely knew how to talk to little kids, he'd never had a friend until he met Ron.

Harry held Teddy under his arms and sort of jiggled him a bit.

"Hi," he said softly. "I'm Harry."

Teddy grinned, revealing a few teeth. He squealed and clapped his hands. Harry was bewildered. What did he do? He only spoke to it – him – and the baby was laughing like he had told the world's funniest joke!

Actually, thought Harry, that would be kind of cool. If a baby laughed at everything a person said, the person could become rich from saying stand up comedy to babies...

Oh Merlin, what was he thinking? Stand up comedy to babies?

Harry flushed and lowered Teddy into his lap, cooing softly under his breath. After what seemed like hours, Andromeda finally returned, and Harry returned Teddy with relief. He really had absolutely no idea what to do with babies...

It was at that moment that Mrs Weasley yelled from the kitchen that lunch was served, so everyone shuffled through the kitchen door to the dining room table.

It was only once Harry was seated that he noticed the subdued atmosphere. He bowed his head. For the Weasleys, for George, it was the first Christmas without Fred. For Andromeda, it was the first without her daughter and her husband, and Remus.

The silence was almost awkward, and it was thick. All that could be heard was the clatter of cutlery against plates.

Surprisingly, it was Percy who cleared his throat, breaking the silence. He lifted a hand and straightened his horn-rimmed glasses. "So," he said.

The whole table looked at him expectantly.

"What did the ghost say to the wall?"

The whole table looked at him like he was an idiot.

"Hey, just passing through! Get it? Ha!"

Percy grinned and looked at his audience expectantly. He sighed. "Just passing through?"

Finally it was George who responded. He snorted. "Really, Percy, that's the best you can come up with?"

The atmosphere lightened considerably, and the meal passed without a hitch, Andromeda easily fitting into conversation with Mr and Mrs Weasley.

In a lapse of conversation, Harry eyed Andromeda. Since he had last seen her, at Tonks's funeral, she seemed to have aged a decade. There were new wrinkles around her face, and her hair was streaked with grey, making her look distinctly unlike her ill-reputed sister Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry shrugged mentally. This was what happened when a mother had to bury her husband and child prematurely, her child who was murdered by her own sister.

Andromeda stayed late into the afternoon, and Teddy was passed around and doted on by everyone in the room. Around 4 o'clock in the afternoon, Teddy began getting sleepy and cranky, and Andromeda decided to take him home before he got worse.

Harry was the last to say goodbye, and he promised his godson lots of visits in the future, promises to always be there for him, like Sirius was for him, in the later years.

The days following Christmas were bloated and lazy as everyone recovered from the rich Christmas foods, playing lazy games of Exploding Snap and Chess, flying around on brooms.

The day before they were set to return to Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione came back for the night, seemingly they had much to catch up on.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting in Ron's room, discussing the past few days.

"I can't believe I missed meeting Teddy," grumbled Hermione.

"You'll get over it," grinned Ron, "Meanwhile; I got to watch the television. Absolutely genius! Don't know why I've never watched one before!" he raved.

Harry and Hermione both rolled their eyes, and Hermione changed subject.

"So Harry," she said slyly, "what did you do on Christmas Eve?"

Harry glared at her.

"It better not be something dirty," groaned Ron, "should I block my ears?"

Harry whacked him with a pillow. "Idiot, I took Ginny to meet my parents!"

Ron had the decency to look ashamed. "Good thing that's not dirty..."

And then Ron realised what Harry had said. "Hey! I've never met them! I've known you since you were eleven!"

"Yeah, but you weren't around."

Ron grumbled indistinctly, Hermione looked smug.

"Merlin!" Harry cried, "You two are back one day and all you can do is fight over who gets to meet my parents!" he sighed dramatically.

He couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts.


	9. Chapter 9

a/n: so so so sorry for the slow update guys! i promise to try and get it up quicker next time!

* * *

><p>Christmas break had been a lovely time to relax with loved ones, but all too soon the eighth years were hit with reality. The school year was now on the later half, and NEWTs were fast approaching. Every teacher was dishing out tougher assignments and more and more required revision of the past six or seven years of education at Hogwarts.<p>

The return of term also meant the return of Quidditch. The Gryffindors were playing two weeks into term, against Ravenclaw. If they won this match, they would most likely be in the final, ensuring the shining Quidditch Cup to stay in the office of the Gryffindor's Head of House for yet another year running. Ginny was demanding almost nightly trainings with her team, the pitch in hot demand by the Ravenclaw team as well as the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs.

The seventh and eighth years, as well as those in fifth year studying for their OWLs, found their increased schedules highly taxing, and woke up disgruntled and sleepy every day.

"Alright team; let's take a quick warm up! Mount up!" bellowed Ginny, and the team rose into the air as one, awaiting Ginny's instructions. She had them paired off, with herself missing out on just this drill, and as they flew the length of the pitch, each pair passed a quaffle between them, keeping the passes in front and really pushing the spends they could go.

As Harry and his partner, Dean, sped faster, the frigid air stung his eyes and made them water slightly. It had not snowed that day, but the clouds were low and heavy. Harry did not have great use for this drill, as he was a Seeker and had zero contact with the quaffle, but it built on teamwork and kept him nimble.

It was a simple drill, and soon enough Ginny called a halt to move onto more specific drills. The snitch was let out, and Harry sped off after it, releasing and chasing each time he caught it. From afar he observed the Chasers ducking and weaving through the Beaters as they hit a bludger between them.

Harry dived suddenly, and swerved back upwards. Ginny had suggested to him over the break to try to be unpredictable, but occasionally predictable. It was a two-sided tactic, really. To be unpredictable meant that the opposing Seeker would not attempt to stick close to him, getting sick or wary of fake dodges or dives, and have a higher chance of chasing the snitch right alongside him. This could also mean that the other Seeker may be far away, and closer to the snitch, if they spotted it first. Being predictable meant the other Seeker would stick close, and have a higher chance of chasing Harry rather than the snitch, which in itself was a decent tactic. But throw in the odd dive, the odd race to the other side of the pitch, would keep the other Seeker on their toes, wary of Harry, and under watchable eye and distance.

It was a perfect tactic, as well as perfectly confusing.

Ginny eventually called a halt, as it was getting much too cold and the Chasers seemed to be dropping the quaffle through their numb fingers.

The team sat together for Ginny's usual after-training pep talk in a room adjacent to the changing rooms, specifically designed for talks or discussions.

On the way back from practice, Ginny and Ron accompanied Harry as he detoured to the Hospital Wing, picking up his latest supply of Dreamless Sleep potions.

They parted, and Harry gave Ginny a quick kiss, with a murmured "I love you," acutely aware that Ron was right there.

Ginny, noting the source of Harry's discomfort, grinned and walked away with a subtle sway to her hips, accenting her figure beneath her robes.

Harry and Ron set off in the opposite direction, and Harry almost felt like a child caught of wrong doing, slinking his way down the darkened corridors. The moment Ron opened his mouth, Harry leapt in, determined to get his say in first, now he knew Ron wanted 'the talk.'

"Yes, Ron, I love Ginny. Nothing is going to change it," He said firmly.

Ron closed his mouth and a highly awkward look crossed his face.

"You said yourself, before the war, that it was better me than Dean or anyone else," Harry reminded him.

Ron ran a hand nervously through his hair. "I know mate, but, don't you, don't you think you're taking it a bit fast? Or, I don't know..."

Harry smiled gently. "No Ron, we're going at the pace we want to go at. There's no me, or her, there's only us. I know I hurt her when we left to hunt horcruxes, but I am never going to do that again. There's no psychopathic murder hunting me down anymore, and I can finally live my life. With Ginny."

Ron's ears turned red, the picture of embarrassment. Suddenly he clapped Harry on the back. "Sorry," he grimaced, "It's just so weird."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, not you two together," Ron assured him, "it's just, the war made us all grow up so fast, I don't want you to rush into anything, like Mum and Dad did when they got married and had a zillion babies."

Harry almost burst out laughing, but for the serious look on Ron's face. "Ron, I'm not even _thinking_ of making a zillion babies yet! I'm 18! Give me a moments rest! At the moment, I just want to live my life. I had no idea if I would come out of this war, didn't believe I would. I want to live a while without the threat of death hanging over my head 24/7."

Ron looked slightly mollified, and Harry plowed on. "You know I was just as upset when I ended it. When we were camping, you know all those times I was watching the map? I was watching her dot, Ron, her name, hoping she was alright. I took her to meet my parents, Ron. You haven't even met them yet."

"I can't figure out if watching her dot is perverted or sweet..."

"Did you just say sweet? Did you just say_ I_ was sweet? Who are you and what have you done with Ron?"

Ron grinned, the embarrassment vanished from his face. Glad it was over, Harry changed the subject quickly.

"So, how's Hermione lately?"

Ron pushed him into a wall, his face and ears bright red again.

* * *

><p>The day of the Quidditch match saw Harry bright and refreshed, after seven solid hours of dreamless rest. He could really get used to this...<p>

"Potter, you're awfully chipper this morning," drawled Malfoy from across the room, his voice heavy with sleep.

"What're you going to do about it?" Harry grinned.

Malfoy looked at Harry oddly.

"Going to kick Ravenclaws arses! Gryffindor! Wooh! Sorry Terry," Harry added unashamedly.

Terry Boot groaned and rolled over in bed.

Harry was down and out of the dorm in no time, and met Ron and the team down at breakfast.

Once there, he calmed down a fair amount. Last Quidditch match they had won, but Harry had felt like death warmed up, plagued with nightmares and lack of sleep.

The team ate together in comfortable silence before making their way down to the pitch before the roaring crowd.

They waited in the changing rooms in high anticipation, and the entire team almost bounced out once their names were called, Harry's mood infecting them, Ron included, although his face was still slightly pale behind his freckles.

The roar of the crowd was so mixed, it was difficult to tell the difference between the cheers and the boos.

The whistle blew and they were off, Harry zipping high above the pitch and above the level of play. The Ravenclaw Seeker was a young girl, Harry thought he recognised her to be in about third year. She was hovering around fifty metres away from him to his right, only seen in his peripheral vision. She also seemed to be focused more on him than on her surroundings, the true signs of any novice Seeker.

The crowd roared and booed, and Gryffindor had scored the first goal, as Dennis Creevey announced from the commentators pod.

The scores were even at 60-60 when Harry caught his first glimpse of the snitch, hovering near the Ravenclaw goalpost. He darted away, the little Ravenclaw girl hot behind him. A bludger swung out of nowhere, and Harry barely had time to duck.

When he righted himself, the snitch was gone. The Ravenclaw Seeker hovered behind him, obviously never seeing the snitch in the first place. He let out a frustrated sigh between his teeth.

He darted suddenly to the left, then dived, narrowly missing a Ravenclaw chaser. As the other Seeker followed him, he doubled back, swapping their positions. Now he was the one behind her.

Gryffindor was slowly pulling ahead on points, now at 100-80. The Ravenclaw Chasers seemed to only implement the most basic of movements, however, their defence was strong. Ginny had coached her Chasers so that they moved as if they were one force, weaving and dodging around each other, as if there were no other players on the pitch, no competition, just them and the quaffle.

Finally, Harry caught another glimpse of the snitch, and he made quick work of it. He dodged in the opposite direction, then spun around and darted after the snitch. The other seeker was left facing the other direction as his outstretched hand closed over the tiny golden ball.

Dennis's voice could be heard over the roar of the crowd as Harry hurtled back to his teammates. "Harry Potter has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins, 270 to 100!"

The party that night did not last as long as it could have, as fifth, seventh and eighth years needed their sleep, even though exams were months away. Hermione dragged Ron and Harry away much earlier than the other eighth years, to their consternation.

"Hermione, we aren't five!" Ron complained, his voice echoing slightly in the empty hallway.

"Do you want to be an Auror or not?" she replied loftily.

"Why do you always have to be so smart," he grumbled.

Hermione's smile was smug as they got back to the West Tower.

* * *

><p>Defence Against the Dark Arts classes that following week took an interesting turn.<p>

"This week we will actually learn how to cast a patronus," Dawlish announced to the class.

A murmur of excitement swept the room, but was quelled under Dawlish's observant eye.

"I understand that in sixth year you dealt with some of the theory behind it, can anyone tell me what this charm is most commonly used for?"

Hermione's hand instantly flew into the air. Dawlish rolled his eyes visibly before nodding at her.

"Most commonly used against Dementors, also used against Lethifolds," Hermione fired out.

Dawlish nodded again. "Yes, now this is very advanced magic, do not be disappointed if you can not all manage it on your first attempt. A true patronus is a protector, and takes the corporeal form of whatever creature is most representative of your deepest desires, dreams, and your heart and soul. Many witches and wizards can only produce the basic form, which is a shield, but is enough. For example, _expecto patronum_!"

His face contorted, as if in pain, and a silvery figure burst from his wand. After a moment or two, Harry realised it was a Tasmanian Devil. It prowled the room once before vanishing.

Ron snorted quietly.

"To make a patronus, you must think of a happy memory, something that gives you joy, and say the words _expecto patronum_. Repeat."

The class chanted back several times, making sure they had the right phrase.

Harry smirked. Most of the students in this classroom had learnt to make patronuses back in fifth year, when Harry taught them in the D.A. Glancing around, he suspected many of them knew it, as they wore similar smirks to his.

"But Mr Potter seems to think he is above my lessons," said Dawlish, eyebrows raised, "Perhaps you can have the first attempt?" a cruel smirk flitted across his face.

Harry sighed. Honestly, you'd think Dawlish deliberately didn't read the _Daily Prophet,_ or listen to rumours. He seemed to ignore every tiny detail about Harry, making his own assumptions. Even Death Eaters knew Harry could make a corporeal patronus.

Thinking back to the Quidditch match so recently won, Harry pointed his wand in front of him and clearly stated "_expecto patronum_!"

A silvery stag burst from his wand, and Harry thought he heard sighs from Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil.

Dawlish looked at him, his eyes unfathomable, as the stag galloped around the room once, before vanishing.

"10 points to Gryffindor," he said finally, before turning away to the rest of the class. "Now with wands, I want to see you try."

As one, the students waved their wands and murmured the incantation. Harry saw Ernie's boar, Hermione's otter and Ron's little terrier. Many of the Slytherins had not even been able to produce a wisp of silver from their wands. Malfoy's face was flushed as he waved his wand about, getting more agitated each time he failed.

"I see many of you have produced a patronus before," said Dawlish, lips pursed. "For those who cannot produce one yet, I want you to practice. I want everyone to be able to produce one by the time your assignment is due. I want thirty inches on the uses and benefits of a patronus charm by next Friday."

That night in the West Tower common room patronuses ran abundant. Even those who could already produce one were showing off, and helping others. It was by far the most interesting lesson, the most interesting spell, that one could learn at Hogwarts.

Ron watched his little terrier bounding around in front of the fire, yapping silently as it chased Hermione's graceful otter.

Most of the Slytherins watched on, envy apparent in their eyes as they merely produced a wisp of silver, or nothing at all.

Harry was asked several times that night to assist some students, mainly Hufflepuffs, to help them focus, anything, so they could produce their own patronus. Tiring of it early on, he retreated to his dorm, leaving Ron and Hermione behind.

Once there, he finally cast his own patronus, letting free his stag, letting free the James Potter within.

The door creaked, and Harry cursed and turned around, his stag disappearing.

"Oh, Malfoy, it's only you. You gave me a fright," said Harry, relieved.

Malfoy's eyes were on the spot where the stag had disappeared, before he turned slowly to face Harry. "What do you mean, 'only me'?"

"Er... I thought it would be some titchy Hufflepuff wanting me to help them with their patronuses..." Harry admitted.

Malfoy's jaw tightened, before he nodded and moved over to his own bed.

Silence fell between them briefly, and Harry wondered if this was an awkward silence.

"Potter."

Harry looked over expectantly. Malfoy seemed torn between several emotions, he look almost revolted with himself, but eager, too.

"Can you please help me learn to cast a patronus?"

Whatever Harry was expecting, that was certainly not it. If he had been holding something, he would have dropped it.

He didn't respond, just stared at Malfoy.

"Potter? Anyone home? Knew you never had as much brains as everyone made out..." muttered Malfoy.

This, more than anything, startled Harry into responding. He struggled to contain the irritation he felt towards the blond haired pureblood.

"Well," said Harry slowly, "You need a really happy memory. Something that gives you hope, something that keeps you going when all seems lost."

"I gathered that from Dawlish, thanks all the same," said Malfoy sarcastically.

"Do you want me to help you or not?" snapped Harry.

To his astonishment, Malfoy dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his forehead slightly.

"Potter, I'm Death Eater. We _thrived_ off fear and terror. We don't need to cast patronuses because the Dementors sided with us because we gave them what they needed."

"No," said Harry firmly.

Malfoy looked up, his face desperate.

"You're not a Death Eater, you didn't enjoy it, it was coercion. You're not like them, Malfoy. You never were. You only thought you were." Harry looked directly at Malfoy as he said this.

"What makes you say that?" Malfoy whispered.

Harry dared to believe that he saw a spark of hope in the silvery grey eyes opposite him.

He took a breath. "Because I was there the night Dumbledore died, you wouldn't have killed him. Because in the Room of Requirement, with the Fiendfyre, you were absolutely terrified. When we were at your Manor, you still looked terrified. You looked like someone who had gotten too deep into something, with no way out, and you knew it."

Malfoy continued to look at him, scrutinising him, suspicious.

"You're not like them, Malfoy."

At the sound of his name, Malfoy jerked slightly, as if burned. His face became unreadable, except for a renewed sense of determination that seemed to spark from his eyes.

"Alright, help me with my patronus then."

"What's the memory you've been trying to use previously?" asked Harry.

Malfoy's eyes drifted to the left as he responded, "first time I rode a broom."

A little niggle latched at the back of his brain. That's what his first memory had been when he was learning, way back in third year.

"Not strong enough," Harry said.

"Well what sort of memories do you use, oh wise Chosen One?"

"Don't call me that!" said Harry sharply, "the first one I ever used successfully was the first time I saw my parents. It's got to be strong, so the feeling of winning a Quidditch match or something like that. As you get accustomed to the spell and it becomes easier, more memories are easy to use."

Malfoy stared at Harry, again. A faint flush settled on his cheeks.

"And not all Death Eaters couldn't cast patronuses, one Death Eater saved my life with his."

Malfoy closed his eyes, as if in deep concentration, appearing not to hear Harry's last statement. The tiniest of smiles flashed over his lips, before it was quickly repressed. Still with his eyes closed, Malfoy murmured, "_expecto patronum."_

Malfoy opened one eye and glanced at his wand, as if it vibrated suddenly. From it burst forth the tiniest puff of silver, no more than a swirl, before it disappeared.

"I did it! Did you see that? Er, I mean, well of course I did it. I _am_ a Malfoy."

The familiar Malfoy smirk crept over his face, the look of utter superiority. Harry hid his amusement with a turn of his head.

"Do you want to try again?"

Malfoy closed his eyes again, his face scrunched up in concentration. He murmured the incantation again, and yet again a small puff of silver was produced.

"Keep thinking happy thoughts, Malfoy," said Harry as he lay back on his bed. He tucked his arms behind his head, staring up as Malfoy softly murmured to himself over and over again.

It was a while before Harry realised the room had fallen silent.

"Potter, why did you faint, back in third year?"

_This is so odd,_ Harry mused. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy having a civil conversation, and practising spell work together.

"Potter – "

"I heard you," Harry interrupted, "I could hear Voldemort murdering my parents. I could hear my mum screaming, begging him to kill her instead and leave me, and I could hear my dad telling her to escape, to run, that he would hold Voldemort off."

The room fell into a ringing silence again. Harry got the impression that Malfoy may be feeling a little abashed. Well he hoped he was anyway.

"You're a better man than I am, Potter."

The voice sounded disjointed; it was soft and filled with some emotion Harry couldn't place, but it was undeniably Malfoy's.

Harry sat up in shock and looked over at Malfoy. He lay on top of his bed, arms folded neatly over his chest, staring straight up at the ceiling above him. Harry opened his mouth to say something, anything, but before he could, the dorm door opened again, as the rest of the dorm-mates came in loudly and ready for bed.

Harry cast one last look at Malfoy, before turning his attentions to Ron, who was jovially detailing how he managed to finally beat Seamus at a game of Gobstones.

Harry had a feeling that what had happened between Malfoy and him was something that would alter his perspective about the Slytherin permanently, and vice versa. The night had been rife with revelations; it had formed a sort of secret bond between the two once-enemies.

He leaned over to his bedside table and unlocked the protective charms surrounding the draw. He chugged back one of the Dreamless Sleeps, failing to notice a pair of grey eyes following the empty bottle to the bin beside Harry's bed.

Harry had time to redo the enchantments, take off his glasses and get comfortable, before he settled into a deep slumber seconds later.


	10. Chapter 10

a/n: thankyou for all the lovely reviews!

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><p>"... So it looks most like we will play Slytherin in the Cup Final, because they're the only other undefeated team, the absolutely slaughtered Ravenclaw a few weeks back..."<p>

"... Did you hear? Hufflepuff forfeited their game against Slytherin; apparently a Potions explosion incapacitated half the team!"

That morning at breakfast, all Harry could hear was quiet murmurs about Quidditch. According to Ginny, the Hufflepuffs had forfeited their upcoming match against Slytherin, and as Slytherin had recently defeated Ravenclaw, the game for the Quidditch Cup this year would be between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Harry glanced over at the Hufflepuff table; many of them looked miserable, with heads bowed, muttering amongst one another.

In Transfiguration, they had finally progressed to transfiguring their entire bodies into innate objects. They had moved slowly, starting with toes and feet, to all the legs or a head.

"Now, now class!" cried Professor Tuggen over the excited chattering of the class. "Remember, the incantation is _obiectum corpus_! I want to see you all have a go! Use the everyday objects from around the room, a table, an armchair, a bookshelf."

He waved his wand, and suddenly the room was a lot cosier, innate objects appearing with a pop, for inspiration. Amongst the clutter of the desks and bookshelves, Harry could spot a startlingly familiar squishy purple armchair. He wondered if Slughorn knew where his armchair was.

The chattering in the classroom soon changed to mutters and concentration as students turned to their task at hand. Most had mastered turning body parts into objects, but the entire body was a completely different matter.

Harry glanced at Ron and grinned to see the trademark purple face of concentration. Hermione, on the other hand, was pale, a light sheen of sweat on her face. She had her eyes closed and her lips were moving voicelessly.

Professor Tuggen was now moving around the classroom, adjusting this person's wand movement, and that person's pronunciation. Harry hastily closed his eyes as Tuggen approached.

A loud bang forced Harry's eyes back open, and he looked around to see what had caused it. In Hermione's place, there now sat a simple brown bookshelf.

"Well done Miss Granger!" exclaimed Professor Tuggen, "Ten points to Gryffindor!"

Another bang and Hermione stood before the beaming professor, looking slightly out of breath and bedraggled.

Half the class stared at Hermione with jealousy, the other half filled with a begrudging admiration.

By the end of the lesson, only several Ravenclaws and Harry himself had successfully managed the transformation.

For Harry, it was an immensely weird sensation. He had repeatedly been muttering "_obiectum corpus, obiectum corpus," _and focused with all his might on an image of Slughorn's armchair. He remembered his surprise when Slughorn had turned out to be a mimic of the chair, at the start of sixth year. And then suddenly, Harry was overwhelmed with the sensation of being squeezed, as if he were a lemon. He had a moments panic as he was swallowed into darkness, he felt like he couldn't breathe. The sensation let up, he could breathe, but the world was still black. He could hear what was going on around him, the precise exclamations of Hermione and Ron, but he was blind.

He had taken a deep breath, cast the counter-spell, and he was right again, blinking dazedly at the light in the sun-filled classroom.

Professor Tuggen had been delighted, but no points had been awarded: hardly a surprise as he was not the first to be successful, nor even the second.

Leaving for the next class, Ron was quite grumpy, not having even being slightly successful. Hermione consoled him, but Harry could tell her heart wasn't completely in it; perhaps because she was so exuberant at her own success. Ron seemed to pick up on this vibe and soon shook off her hand gruffly, settling into a silent, brooding mood.

That night in the eighth year common room, Ron was over his bad mood, instead regaling all those who would listen about his amazing adventures with television during the holidays. Not many listened, but it was clear to all that it was absolutely fascinating to him. He described in detail to Terry Boot and Lavender Brown about a program called _The Simpsons,_ as both were pure-blooded and had almost never been to the muggle world before.

Harry caught Hermione huffing and rolling her eyes occasionally as she attempted to complete homework over the noise Ron was making, but he noticed she couldn't stop a small smile curving her lips every once in a while.

Harry slammed his Transfiguration book closed, he couldn't be bothered working on the essay, it wasn't due for several weeks. Hermione jumped slightly.

"I think I'm going to bed," he explained, "You keep watching over dunderhead, before he makes a bigger fool of himself." He gestured at Ron.

Hermione looked scandalised. "Wait, don't leave me! He's never going to shut up!" she whispered furiously.

Harry shrugged, smirking, and left.

The dorm was empty, save for Malfoy. Harry ignored him, preparing for bed. He was almost ready to unlock the enchantments to get at his dreamless sleep, when Malfoy spoke.

"Potter, can you help me with the Patronus again?"

Malfoy's voice was small, he looked frustrated at having to ask for help from the Great Harry Potter again.

Harry had really wanted to sleep...

"Only if you say the magic word," he smirked.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Potter."

"Yes Malfoy?" replied Harry innocently.

Malfoy grimaced. "You enjoy this, sadistic bastard. Can you _please_ help me with my Patronus?"

Harry didn't bother to reply, instead asking repetitive, basic questions.

Malfoy could still apparently only produce a wisp, and he was getting desperate.

"Really, Malfoy, you only need to think of a really happy memory, it's not that hard, is it? What about a birthday or something?"

Malfoy only glared at him. "You think I haven't tried that?"

"Well what about something that makes you happy, as opposed to a specific memory. Like, focus on how brilliant it feels to ride a broom, leaving behind all kinds of expectations, it's just you. Something you love, a person or passion."

"Are you still talking about me? Or is that all about you as usual, Mr Chosen One?" drawled Malfoy.

"Don't call me that or I won't help you!" snapped Harry. He sat on his bed and shuffled back, his chin held mulishly, arms crossed.

Malfoy moved his arms fractionally, in a move that could be read as defeat. He leant back on his own bed, seemingly lost in concentration. His face relaxed, the trademark sneer falling gently away, worry lines around his mouth smoothing out.

"_Expecto patronum."_

Harry grinned as Malfoy yelled. From his wand a blazing white light cast the entire room in shade, the darkest corners almost black, as Malfoy produced the basic shield Patronus.

Malfoy grinned gleefully, all evidence of an aristocratic pure-blood erased from his face, and for a moment, Harry could see the real Draco Malfoy within.

Malfoy produced the spell several more times that night, never further than a large shield, and almost seemed disappointed when he finally stopped, despite the amount of progress made that night.

"It's alright," Harry reassured him, "I never produced a proper corporeal form until my soul was actually in danger from a hundred Dementors."

Draco almost asked about the occasion in question, but decided against it. This civility with Potter was weirding him out far too much. He watched as Potter magically unlocked a draw, poured something into his mouth, then discarded the little bottle in a bin under his bed. He watched as Potter was asleep no less than a minute later.

At that moment, Ron Weasley entered the room loudly, surprisingly not waking Potter up, and Draco couldn't look for the abandoned bottle.

* * *

><p>As the week went on, excitement for the impending Quidditch final between Gryffindor and Slytherin grew to an incredible level.<p>

There were not many curses or jinxes or hexes aimed at any team members; many Slytherins were being watched by the Ministry, and any wrongdoing could end up with severe penalties. The Gryffindors were not responsible for any thrown spells either, what they had done in previous years was generally retaliation. However, many verbal insults were thrown, and it was more often than not that Harry accompanied a flaming red-eared Ron down the corridors. Harry himself just let the insults bounce right off him, retaliating with similar insults, as did most of the team.

The tension in the dormitories at night was almost just as sufferable, with Zabini riling Ron up whenever they were in hearing distance of one another. Malfoy generally stayed quiet, which was odd in itself.

The morning of the match, Professor McGonagall made a small speech at breakfast, proclaiming how proud she was that violence was largely not resorted to between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and those who got in the way, and she was quite proud of the progress in inter-house unity.

The Gryffindor team sat huddled at one end of their table, eating what they could, but generally confident in a cautious manner.

They made their way down to the pitch and only spared a brief moment of discussion in the changing rooms before they made their appearance.

Harry watched as Malfoy and Ginny shook hands; he hadn't realised Malfoy was Captain. It also didn't seem as if Malfoy was trying to squeeze the life out of Ginny's hand; a first for any Slytherin Captain.

The whistle blew and they were off, Gryffindor quickest to the quaffle.

It seemed that this year, Malfoy was attempting to win the game based on pure skill. There were almost no shouts from the crowd of foul play, or many boo's, and certainly not many furious shrilling from Madam Hooch's whistle.

Unfortunately for the Slytherins, no usage of their usual tactics meant that Gryffindor was steadily and almost easily pulling ahead, the superb teamwork of the Chasers and Beaters driving the quaffle from the Slytherins repeatedly. Ron himself was managing to knock back the ball on a regular basis.

Half an hour into the game, and Gryffindor was already ahead by fifty points.

At this stage, Harry began some small dodges and some incredibly big dives, hoping to convince Malfoy into following him.

"Stop with the tricks, Pothead, I'm not a gullible Hufflepuff!" Malfoy's voice carried over the wind from above as Harry pulled out of another dive.

_Not likely_, thought Harry. The more wary Malfoy became, the less inclined he would be to believe Harry had actually seen the snitch. The two-pronged seeker technique.

Now more than seventy points ahead, the game was definitely getting dirty. The Slytherins, frustrated that their play-nice technique wasn't working, were forgetting what Malfoy had obviously attempted to drill into their heads.

Harry winced as Ron was hit by two bludgers in quick succession, winding him. He groaned as Slytherin scored three successive goals with Ron otherwise occupied, regardless of the whistle.

As Harry watched as the Gryffindors got more and more bloodied up, he looked for the snitch less. He made another few feeble dives, but Malfoy was having none of it. He winced as Ginny was hit by a bludger, and the loud crack of one of her fingers was audible throughout the stadium, despite the roar of the crowd.

Slytherin slowly began to catch up on their goals, until they were finally only twenty points behind.

Ginny and her Chasers flew on regardless, as they were pushed around by physical Slytherins and aimed at by Beaters, but Harry could see how much it was costing his team.

He began to search for the snitch in earnest now, desperate to finish the game.

He sped over to the other side of the pitch, but the glint was merely the weak sun reflecting off one of the Beater's bats. He swung around in disappointment, only to come face to face with a bludger.

His head whipped back as stars blossomed in front of his eyes, and knew with crunching certainty that his nose was broken. Blood spurted rapidly and Harry attempted to stop it, ignoring the pain, but it was at that precise moment, with his head faced skyward, that he caught the unmistakeable glint of the snitch.

He angled his broom upwards, into the low clouds, and sped off after the snitch, Malfoy far below him, believing the trick to be another ruse.

Blood blinding his eyes, cold moisture wet on his face, his hand closed over the golden snitch.

He returned to the pitch at full pelt, a large grin on his face.

The stadium was momentarily silent as everyone sighted the tiny fluttering ball clenched between his fist, and then Harry was suddenly deafened, his teammates catching him and screaming into his ears, the stadium in uproar.

Ginny kissed him, oblivious to the blood still pouring sluggishly out of his nose.

When she came up for air, she wiped to blood from around her mouth, and quickly healed Harry's nose with a quick "_episkey_."

Harry barely glimpsed the Slytherin team slinking off the pitch, their broomsticks slung dejectedly over their shoulders, as the Hermione caught up to them, along with the rest of the screaming Gryffindors.

To Hermione's surprise, Ron pulled her down in a large, sloppy kiss, and Harry and Ginny giggled soundlessly as Hermione pulled back up, blushing furiously.

The Cup was presented to them and the Gryffindors half carried the team back to the old common room.

That night saw the loudest party in years. Somehow, Seamus had procured three bottles of firewhiskey, and it was shared between the eighth year Gryffindors, bar Hermione, who turned her nose up at the stuff.

Harry watched in amazement as tiny Dennis Creevey tottered around the room, a large glass of butterbeer tucked under his arm, as he sang loudly and danced around the room by himself.

Pavarti and Lavender also danced together, a large smile on Lavender's face, and for just a few moments, she looked for all the world like she had never met Fenrir Greyback, like she was the old, gossipy Lavender that Harry remembered from sixth year.

Even Harry danced with Ginny for a while, taking her around the room in a clumsy waltz, before she took pity in him and made him sit down while she got them some more butterbeer.

Hermione and Ron sat on a couch together, all nice and snugly, Hermione with such a happy glow that warred with her satisfied smirk.

The shining Cup sat on a table, surrounded by tiny first years, who either stared at it in awe, or slowly stroked a single finger down its gleaming side. This was now the fourth year that Gryffindor had won the Cup while Harry was at Hogwarts, and only the second time Harry had participated in the match for the Cup, the other time being in third year.

* * *

><p>Back in the eighth year dorms, a grim Draco paced around the abandoned room. How could he be so stupid? He had fallen for Potter's stupid Seeker tricks, despite being wary of him! He supposed the Weaslette had taught him some new tricks, Potter had never been so infuriating to oppose before.<p>

Speaking of Potter...

Draco stopped his pacing and strode over to Potter's bed. He crouched down and pulled out the bin, tucked so tidily underneath the bed.

Inside the bin was what Draco was looking for: about a dozen little glass vials all labelled.

Draco inhaled sharply as he read the neat labels on each vial: Dreamless Sleep.

What on earth could Potter be doing that required him to get a solid few hours of sleep? By the looks of the bin, he took them quite regularly.

Draco frowned, sitting back on his heels. He slowly turned to the bedside table. He waved his wand twice, and almost groaned aloud. Really, if Potter wanted to protect his property, he really should learn some decent charms. In another second he had undone the enchantments and was yanking the draw open.

Inside, it was nearly empty, save for two unused vials of dreamless sleep.

Draco picked them up carefully, and examined them closely. The potion inside seemed to be colourless.

Uncorking one, it also seemed to be odourless.

A thought slipped into his head, he wanted to know what happened when Potter didn't take the potion.

He Vanished the contents of the last two vials, and filled them both with water. He re-corked them magically, put everything back exactly as he had found it, recast the pathetic enchantments, and was back to his own bed before one could say "Slytherin lost."

* * *

><p>Harry and Ron burst into the dorm, laughing loudly, at what, they didn't know. Harry shoved Ron over to his bed and chucked a shoe at him, both giggling raucously.<p>

"_Some_ of us are _trying_ to sleep, you know," came a muffled voice from one of the beds.

Harry shushed Ron loudly, and reached for his dreamless sleep potions, downing it quickly before darting into bed. He stared at the ceiling expectantly, waiting for sleep to come. Was it taking longer than usual? Harry didn't know, and then he was asleep.

_Draco Malfoy stood in what appeared to be an abandoned Great Hall. His wand dangled unused at his side. His hair hung over his face in great, greasy strands, his eyes looked crazy._

_"Potter!" he shouted, quite deranged._

_"Potter... Potter... Potter..." his echo whispered._

_Harry revealed himself then, from behind the staff table. He approached Malfoy, and stopped suddenly._

_Surrounding Malfoy, lying on the floor, Were Ginny, Ron and Hermione, their faces deathly white. Ron's legs lay at odd angles, Hermione lay on top of him peacefully. There was a great gash down Ginny's side, and even in death, it bled sluggishly._

_Harry noticed more bodies around him. There was Sirius, and Remus, and Tonks, all dead, all pale, all looking so profusely wrong._

_Fred, Colin Creevey. His parents._

_He looked back at Malfoy, and Malfoy began to laugh, and laugh, cold and high._

_In a sudden movement, the eyes of all the bodies opened. In another fluid movement, every head in the room turned to look at him, staring without seeing._

_They rose slowly, and began to advance on Harry._

_"Why didn't you save us?" they murmured._

_"You promised," whispered Ginny._

_"Harry, it's your fault, it's your fault..."_

_"Why didn't you save us?"_

_"Help me Harry..."_

_"Come join us..."_

_The voices whispered around him as the bodies of his loved ones circled around him, drawing closer. Their skin was pale blue, and suddenly parts began to rot off._

_Harry gaped in horror as Hermione's rotten ear fell into his outstretched hand._

_The pressed against him, ever closer. Cold hands scrabbled at his warm flesh, and Harry began to scream. Something foul tasting dropped into his mouth and he choked and gagged, needing to vomit._

_The stench was overpowering, filling his nose as he screamed and screamed, a cold, high laugh echoing in the darkening room._

_"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," cried Harry, over and over again._

_"Harry..."_

_He screamed again: all he could see was writhing flesh._

"Harry!"

He awoke as another scream tore from his lungs.

Standing before him was a blurry figure, but Harry could see the shock of red hair.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" he cried.

He reached for his glasses and knocked them off the bedside table, his hands were shaking so violently. Ron picked them up and patiently waited as Harry shoved them on his nose.

Harry then became acutely aware that he had woken his entire dorm up. He ripped his covers off and stumbled out the room, trying to avoid the looks on the sleepy faces of his dorm mates. Terry Boot seemed scared, Malfoy looked guilty.

Guilty? That couldn't be right. No doubt Harry couldn't see clearly because he was shaking so badly and distracted.

He wrenched the door open and slammed it shut behind him, probably waking up others in other dorms.

He stumbled blindly down the stairs and ended up in his favourite armchair in front of a fire, only glowing embers now.

Harry ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair and let out a quiet sob. His body was still shaking violently.

Why had he had such a dream? He was taking a potion for it; surely he couldn't possibly be having nightmares? His life was improving so much without them!

What was happening?

He heard quiet footsteps approaching, but he didn't turn around. He only looked up when he sensed the person in front of him.

Ron put a tentative hand on his knee. "It's alright," he murmured, "It was only a dream."

Harry glared at him, unable to come up with a sarcastic retort. He scrunched his hands back into his eyes, willing the burning sensation to go away, willing the tears not to fall.

"I thought it had stopped," whispered Harry.

Ron stared at him for a moment, eyes inscrutable, and then he waved his wand, a little terrier bounding off.

Harry tried to follow it with his eyes, but he couldn't focus, he couldn't focus on anything. It wasn't so much that the dream was especially bad, in all senses it was only as bad as the others. What scared him was the fact that he was on dreamless sleep, he shouldn't have dreamt at all.

Hermione came down the stairs at that moment, tucked up in a dressing gown, and Harry understood. Ron had fetched her with his patronus. The moment she saw Harry, however, she rushed over, all sleepiness temporarily forgotten, as she enveloped him in a large hug. It wasn't five minutes later that Ginny turned up, equally sleepy.

Harry couldn't thank Ron enough, but he couldn't speak. He didn't want to speak. He wanted to curl up into a tiny ball and forget about everything.

According to a clock nearby, it was around three o'clock in the morning.

Slowly, his friends moved him onto a couch, and they sat down next to him. Ginny sat, clenching his hand, despite how sweaty it was, despite how sweaty he was. Hermione sat on his other side and Ron sat on the floor, near Harry's legs. The support of his friends nearly overwhelmed him, and it was all he could do to not cry.

When light began to creep through the windows the group moved silently. They had sat in comforting silence for the better part of three hours, and they needed to do something, get Harry out of his terrified stupor.

Ron stoked and rekindled the fire, and the four of them sat in front of it, playing a quiet game of exploding snap, and chess, and anything else they could think of.

By the time students slowly began trickling down for breakfast, they were all exhausted, having only left the party in Gryffindor Tower around 2am.

"Harry," said Hermione tentatively, "what happened?"

Harry gave her a pained look.

"Oh, not about the dream," she hurriedly reassured, "but _why_ did you have the dream?"

"I don't know," whispered Harry.

"Mate," said Ron, "do you reckon the potion was tampered with?"

"Tampered with?" repeated Ginny, frowning.

Ron nodded slowly. "This is dreamless sleep. It's _dreamless_. Even if the potion were to be stuffed up, it's most common in the strength, it doesn't usually allow for dreams to get in."

Hermione nodded as well. "Did you notice anything different about it?"

Harry thought, trying to drag up the memory. "I think... I think I took longer to get to sleep, but I'm not sure..."

"How many vials do you have left, after last night?" Hermione interrogated him.

"Er, one, I think."

"Excellent, we can co to Madam Pomfrey today to replenish; I don't want you touching the last vial. In fact, Ron can you go up and get it? Where is it, Harry?"

"In my bedside table," said Harry dully, "I enchanted the top draw."

Harry gave Ron instructions how to dismantle the charm, and Ron was soon back with the vial in question.

Hermione snatched it from Ron's hands, and was waving her wand over it repeatedly before Ron was even sitting down. He protested for the sake of protesting, but was quiet under Hermione's fierce glare.

After a few moments she nodded again. "Yes, this potion has been tampered with. This is nothing but water."

"But who would do that?" whispered Ginny, shocked.

Hermione looked grim.

"Bet it was that twitchy little ferret!" Ron snarled as Malfoy sauntered past.

Was it Harry's imagination, or did Malfoy speed up a little?

"Ron, don't be so quick to judge him," he protested feebly, "He's changed, we all have."

"Wouldn't put it past him," muttered Ron rebelliously.

"Oh shush," said Hermione, slapping him lightly on the shoulder in reprimand.

"Let's head down for breakfast," said Ginny.

It was likely no other Gryffindors would be down there, it was much too early for the party-goers to be up.

Harry disputed weakly, but he was dragged unceremoniously from the room, his hand still locked tightly with Ginny's.


	11. Chapter 11

a/n: sorry for such a long wait! I've been loaded down with uni work, and I had such writer's block on this chapter... it's a little short, I'm sorry!

also, there should only be about 3 chapters left...

enjoy! and please review if you feel like it!

* * *

><p>A week passed, and Harry slept soundly with his latest stock of Dreamless Sleep. Those around him began to relax, hoping the culprit had done it as a one-time thing. Of course, being relaxed was really an impasse, as NEWTs were around twelve weeks away, and tensions rose as the eighth and seventh year students were drilled with revision from all teachers, forcing it around normal schoolwork and various clubs.<p>

For the Easter holidays, the students were piled up with more work than thought possible, but the only way to get a decent job in the Wizarding World was to do well in the NEWTs. Unless you were Fred and George.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all chose to stay at Hogwarts, as did most of the other eighth and seventh years. It was much more convenient when one needed to access the library, after all.

One morning on the way to breakfast, a few days before the holiday started, the notice board beside the Common Room door caught Harry's eye. He stopped and dragged Ron and Hermione over.

Plastered across the advertisements of clubs, items for sale and many other notices tacked to the board, was a brightly coloured poster. In flashing letters it read:

"_ARE YOU READY TO TAKE ON YOUR FUTURE?"_

A large arrow was situated beneath these letters, pointing downwards, at a small, previously unnoticed table beneath the notice board.

There were ten neat stacks of parchment lined up on the table. Ron snatched up a piece from the closest stack.

"_Auror training: Apply now_," he read aloud.

Hermione gasped and began shuffling through the papers, picking up from almost every second pile, not sure what to apply for.

Harry, meanwhile, grabbed one of the Auror Training applications. "It says here that we're required to submit an essay, along with our applications..."

He glanced at Ron, and was confused at Ron's expression. It wasn't excited, like Harry felt, nor was it apprehensive or nervous. Instead, he looked contemplative.

"You still want to be an Auror, don't you?" asked Harry, panicking slightly.

"Yeah, I do," said Ron slowly.

"But..."

"But I think, for a while, I want to help George at the shop, at least until business picks up..."

Harry nodded his head in sympathy. Since Fred had died, George no longer seemed to have the will power or the energy to continue the flair for business he and Fred had had. Sales had dropped right off, but the profits were still decent; George just needed some motivation.

Hermione seemed to have completely missed their conversation; she was still frantically shuffling through the parchment.

"Hermione?" asked Ron, "What are you looking for?"

She withdrew from the now extremely messy table with a number of applications clutched in her fist.

"And why do you have so many applications?" he added.

Hermione sent him a dirty look, lips pursed. "Whyever would I apply for only one, Ronald? I might not get into what I want, I need backups!" Her eyes searched the poster on the notice board, noting the inquiry numbers for other jobs that did not reply such rigorous application, or did not have forms found on the table.

Ron snorted, unable to turn it into a passable cough, as Hermione levelled a steady glare at him.

Ron's ears turned red, and he hastily suggested getting to breakfast.

They sat down with Ginny; Ron and Harry discussing what they would put in their Auror applications. Hermione pulled out a book and propped it against a jug of pumpkin juice. Ron figured he should put in the application, there was no harm waiting a year or so after he got his confirmation.

Ginny eyed the applications a little apprehensively. "I suppose I should fill out one of those soon, or maybe some others as well," she said.

Harry looked at her, a little surprised. "But don't you want to play Quidditch professionally?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but the only way that happens is through personal invitation."

"Do you know when the invite might come out?"

"Well, on all the information pamphlets, usually by the end of April. Which is why I need to get in some other applications."

"Bu' May i' o'er free week away." Ron rumbled around a mouth of food.

Hermione rolled her eyes, apparently not so intensely reading her book as she led everyone to think.

"Well come join the Aurors with me, we'd make a great team!" Harry joked.

Ginny gave him a little shove, and the conversation turned to other topics, like the distant NEWTs.

Early into the break, Harry was called into Professor McGonagall's office. He had no idea why, as far as he knew, he had been almost to the book with most of his assignments, and stayed out of trouble. Passing the gargoyle and up the stairs, Harry knocked briefly on the door.

The doors swung open and Harry peeked his head through, and then made his way to one of the comfortable chairs opposite the Headmistress's desk. The room was different from the time Dumbledore had inhabited these quarters, but it was still much the same. Many of the mysterious objects had been removed, but they had been replaced by others. There also seemed to be more bookshelves, and it made the room look smaller. Behind the desk was the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, the old man leaning against the frame, apparently asleep. To the right of this portrait was another, one that Harry had insisted be placed in the office: the portrait of Severus Snape, one time Headmaster of Hogwarts, full time spy.

Sitting behind the desk, Minerva McGonagall regarded him sternly over her spectacles. She gestured he sit in the chair opposite her, and Harry felt a sense of foreboding creep over him.

She sighed slightly, nostrils flaring. "You're not here to be punished, Harry. You can wipe that foreboding look off your face this instant."

The use of his first name startled Harry more than the words, and he felt himself relax immediately in front of the woman who had ruled him in his House for the last seven years.

McGonagall suddenly shuffled several pieces of parchment around her desk, looking slightly nervous.

"Harry, I wanted to ask a favour," she started.

Harry nodded his head. He had a suspicion that using his first name was a ploy to get in his good books, but he didn't say anything.

"As you are aware, the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts is a little over three weeks away. On the day, there are plans to hold a memorial service. And, as I'm sure you know, several people will be making speeches."

It was common knowledge that there would be a day of mourning on May 2nd, and as it was still such a fresh wound on Wizarding society, it made sense to hold a memorial service, especially at Hogwarts.

"Kingsley suggested, and I quite agree, that you should give a speech."

Harry looked up into McGonagall's eyes, startled. He almost expected her to laugh, reassure him it was only a joke. She was deadly serious.

"But why me?" he prattled. "There were so many people who fought. I don't want special treatment..."

"Harry," she said, almost gently, "You're the Boy Who Lived. Twice. You're going to be asked for favours, be treated differently, for your whole life. You single-handedly defeated He Who Must Not Be Named."

"I had help," mumbled Harry, staring at his knees.

"Of course. But people only believe what they want to believe. You were a symbol of hope for a long time, Harry."

Harry scowled at his knees. "Then why should I give a speech to people who are too blind to believe what's in front of their nose?"

McGonagall leaned her head to the side slightly. "Then don't give a speech to those people. Give a speech to those who lost someone. Give a speech to people like Andromeda, or the Weasley's, or Dennis Creevey."

Harry met her eyes slowly, scrunching his nose. He remembered his own losses. "Alright," he said finally.

McGonagall gave him a tiny smile, before ushering him out of the room.

The only upside to the Easter holidays that year were the lovely baskets of hand-made Easter eggs from Mrs Weasley. They were a welcome distraction from the copious amounts of study, and boosted the energy when consumed. It also gave Harry, Ron, and Hermione enough energy to put up with the increasingly annoying Head Boy Ernie Macmillan. Reminiscent of fifth year leading up to OWLs, he was constantly questioning the eighth years about how many hours of revision they did a day, regardless that NEWTs were still over ten weeks away. If he didn't think a person was doing enough hours of revision, he would pressure them into a study session with him.

Harry had a feeling that avoiding Ernie's revision sessions was one of the major motivations to revise long and hard for the eighth years.

Sitting in a corner surrounded by piles of books, Harry dragged his Auror application form towards him. The front page required him to fill out basic details, and there were several other pages attached to write the essay.

Harry paused at one of the last questions on the front page. _12. Previous experience?_ It asked. Harry shook his head and chuckled. Harry was pretty sure he had some previous experience. Saving the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort, saving Ginny from Voldemort, rescuing a mass murderer, winning the Triwizard Tournament, escaping Voldemort, escaping Voldemort, finding horcruxes, escaping Voldemort, breaking into Gringotts, surviving the Killing Curse, again, the Battle of Hogwarts, defeating Voldemort.

The essay was much harder; it wanted him to explain what he thought Aurors did, what kind of things he thought they might encounter, and what he thought it meant to be a part of the Auror corps. It required at least twenty inches of parchment.

Smiling, Harry thought of Tonks, Kingsley and Mad-Eye Moody. Even Neville's parents. _That_ was what it meant to be an Auror. To defend what you believed in, and stand up for what you thought was right, even until it was too late. To battle on when it's thought that all hope was lost.

He munched on one of Mrs Weasley's Easter Eggs, lost in thought.

On the first day back of term, owls swooped around the Great Hall as parents sent on packs of sweets or things students forgot. As the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione had stayed at school, they did not receive any packages like this from home. What they were not expecting, however, was a large Eagle Owl to land in front of Ginny. It stuck out its left leg as Ginny untied the thick envelope, and then began drinking from her goblet of pumpkin juice.

Ginny ripped out the contents of the envelope in confusion, then gave a quite uncharacteristic shriek as she spread several pieces of parchment out in front of her.

Many of the papers were topped with a similar title:_ DO YOU WANT TO PLAY FOR THE WINBOURNE WASPS?_ There were other invites from the Montrose Magpies, the Falmouth Falcons and Puddlemere United.

Clutched in Ginny's hands, however, was parchment with the title: _HOW ABOUT THE HOLYHEAD HARPIES?_

Ron reached over and looked at the invite to the Falmouth Falcons. "Wow, Ginny, five invites? People are lucky if they get three! I hear Oliver Wood got four, though..."

Harry gave her a hug as other Gryffindors and a few Ravenclaws came to see what all the fuss was about.

Alone in the dorm that night, Harry tried to brainstorm what he would say at the memorial service. He hadn't yet told Ron or Hermione about it, he didn't want their opinion or input to what he would say. He wanted to say something that came from him and only him, from his heart, but he had absolutely no idea what that could possibly be.

He sighed as the door opened. So much for being alone. Malfoy stood in the doorway, and Harry understood that Malfoy wanted to work on his patronus again. He put his basically blank brainstorming parchment on his bedside table, and gestured for Malfoy to have another go.

Harry watched in boredom as Malfoy continued to produce wisps of silver, and the occasional shield-shaped patronus, but nothing more.

"Doesn't it get repetitive practising this in my presence? What's wrong with doing it with the other Slytherins?" he finally asked.

'They're not interested in learning," Malfoy retorted.

"Why the hell not? It's a complicated piece of magic!"

"Yes, Potter," drawled Malfoy, "But it's also a sign of the Order of the Phoenix, of Dumbledore, of all the other stupid fucked-up happy things you Gryffindors represent."

"Well, what's wrong with that?"

"We're Slytherins, Potter."

Harry exhaled in exasperation. It seemed to him that there would always be this segregation between the houses.

"Say Potter," Malfoy spoke up again not much later, "What did you dream about the other night, without your Dreamless Sleep? Pity you can't go crying to mummy anymore, isn't it? Oh wait, you never could."

Harry whirled to face Malfoy. "Fuck off," he snarled. "You don't know anything about me or what I've been through, you've no right to judge."

"What you've been through? Please, Potter." Malfoy snorted. "You've been nurtured throughout your life, pampered by Dumbledore as a little hero. The world loves you, who could want more? You've no right to complain."

Harry stalked closer to Malfoy, wand out. "My parents were _murdered_. I've been hunted by a psychopath for most of my life. I've watched countless friends die right before my eyes. I walked to my death, Malfoy. _Knowingly_. Ask your mother, I'm sure she knows."

Malfoy now had his wand out, it was almost touching Harry's chest. "What's my mother got to do with anything, Potter? You keep her out of this!"

Harry laughed softly; it seemed to aggravate Malfoy even more. "Oh, but your mother has everything to do with this, Malfoy. If it wasn't for your mother, I wouldn't be here. If it wasn't for me, you would have gone straight to Azkaban without my testament."

And with that, Harry left the room, shoving into Malfoy's shoulder on the way past. He could hear Malfoy calling out where Harry left him, obviously confused.

He didn't have time for this.

He Summoned his Invisibility Cloak, thankful it only came when he Summoned it, and no one else. He left the Common Room and put on the cloak.

He wandered around the castle, lost in thought, not paying attention to where he was going; just letting his feet take him. He ended up at the Astronomy Tower.

Harry sat in the Astronomy Tower for what felt like hours. He hadn't thought much about anything lately, because having no dreams kept the worst of it from his thoughts.

For that matter, how did Malfoy know he wasn't having any dreams? How did Malfoy know he was taking Dreamless Sleep? Had it been Malfoy who had spiked Harry's potions? Didn't all the students at Hogwarts know how unwise it was to meddle with a potion? Then again it _was_ Malfoy... A very interesting situation, one he would have to deal with eventually. Thinking of the Malfoys led Harry down another train of thought.

Why had he testified for them? It had kept Draco and Narcissa out of Azkaban, but it hadn't been quite enough for Lucius, who had now started his five year sentence, although it had been cut down from ten. Harry had seen how reluctant they were at the end, especially Draco and Narcissa, had seen they cared more for each other and for surviving than they did for Voldemort's cause.

Then again, why had he made a private testament, not a public one? Because he didn't want more media attention? He wanted to remain anonymous? He didn't know how the Malfoy's would react? He suspected that Narcissa knew, but he was surprised she appeared not to have told her son.

The moon hung in the sky white and full, and it immediately reminded Harry of that fateful night, over five years ago. He would never again see Remus Lupin; never again hear his werewolf cry, although that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Over Christmas, when he had talked to Andromeda, he had found that Teddy was, in a sense, like Bill. He wasn't a werewolf, but he had wolfish tendencies. He had no doubt that Andromeda was very relieved.

The sky was clear, no trace of clouds. Harry could still pick out all of the named stars he had learnt in Astronomy, even after giving it up at the end of fifth year.

Remembering the fallen, that was what McGonagall had said. Remember them for those who lost them. Remember them as they fought for freedom, fought for their lives, the lives of their children, fought against oppression and fear.

Slowly, Harry began to formulate an idea for his upcoming speech.


	12. Chapter 12

a/n: sorry for the slow update :/ I hope it's worth it though!

* * *

><p>The days that passed since the incident, Harry avoided Malfoy and didn't give him any chance to corner him alone, or ask for help with his patronus. It seemed far too easy to Harry, so he could only believe that Malfoy was avoiding him as well. The most he saw of Malfoy was the back of his silky blond head in front of him in some of their classes.<p>

Of course, the excessive amounts of revision that the eighth years got also might have helped them avoid each other, with exams barely five weeks away.

Late one Friday night, Harry Ron and Hermione could be found in the eighth year Common Room, bent over piles of books and notes. Hermione's eyes were darting over a roll of parchment clutched in her hands, and every once in a while, it would be flung airborne as she hurriedly scrambled to find information in books to back up her notes.

Ron was reading his notes, slowly doodling little otters all over the margins of the parchment.

Harry wasn't even trying to study. It was late, and he couldn't absorb what he was reading, so he just let his eyes stare blankly at the page in front of him.

It was Ron who broke the silence, as he ran out of room to doodle on his current page. "Does anyone know what's happening on the anniversary?" he asked.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He still hadn't told Ron and Hermione about his speech, but that was really because he hadn't got around to it, rather than reluctance.

Hermione shot Ron a swift glare, annoyed to be interrupted, but she soon pushed away her notes and leant back in her chair with a sigh. "I was speaking to McGonagall about it," she started, "and she said there would be a memorial revealed, and that there would be several people doing speeches, including herself and Kingsley. I can't think of who else would be giving a speech though."

Ron tapped his chin with the tip of his quill, which tickled his chin and made him look quite silly, the opposite to what he was thinking.

"Flitwick maybe?" he gestured.

Harry snorted. "Definitely not. They would need to get him a special stand so he could see over the podium, anyway."

Hermione looked at him curiously. "Podium? How do you know there will be a podium?"

Harry rubbed his scar absently. It no longer hurt, but he found that rubbing it soothed him somewhat. "Er, because, well because I'm doing a speech." He rushed out quickly.

Hermione squealed. "Why didn't you tell us earlier?" she scolded.

"I didn't get around to it..." Harry admitted.

"Blimey, mate. In front of all those people? No wonder you didn't tell us. There will be like, a hundred people out there! Or more! Don't you feel nervous?" asked Ron.

"Well I do now, thanks Ron," said Harry irritably.

"Oh never mind that, Harry what will you talk about? Have you figured it out yet?"

Harry grinned a bit. "I reckon I have an idea..."

Hermione pouted. "And?" she prodded.

Harry shook his head. "You can find out with everyone else on the day. It would ruin it for you if you're reciting my words along with me."

Hermione smacked his arm.

"Hey!" Harry cried, "Don't even deny it's true!" he laughed, and Hermione smacked him again, but this time with a small smile on her face. He laughed harder, and soon all three of them were cracking up, such carefree laughter echoing around the Common Room. Harry felt the lightest he had in months, the atmosphere completely changing, all because of laughter.

* * *

><p>Harry tossed and turned on the eve of May 2nd. He may have slept dreamlessly and soundly, but his brain still seemed to be awake with nerves, and when he woke up that morning, he felt thoroughly worn out.<p>

He went down to breakfast with Ron and Hermione, but he couldn't manage to eat any food. The atmosphere in the hall was subdued, as this was a day no one could forget; merely a year ago that Voldemort was defeated in this very room. Harry could feel the stares of his peers drilling into the back of his neck, not to mention the people he could actually see staring at him. He sighed. Life would always be like this, he should be used to the attention by now.

"Harry, you need to eat something," Hermione pressed.

"Yeah mate, don't want to make a fool of yourself if you pass out from lack of food," added Ron.

"That's only you, Ron," said Harry, but he added some food to his plate, although he made no move to eat any of it.

Ginny came down at that moment, sitting beside him, as he was silently poking food around his plate.

"Harry?" she asked, "what's wrong?"

Harry glanced at her, before grunting "not hungry," and going back to pushing around the food.

Ginny looked slightly put out, and Hermione leapt in to explain that Harry was doing a speech during the memorial service.

A look of comprehension crossed her face, and erased the hurt.

"Now Harry, you should be eating. You don't want to pass out on stage, do you?" she admonished.

"But I'm not hungry," he said plaintively.

"I don't care," said Ginny, "You're eating."

"Do what she says, Harry," said Ron, looking alarmed, "she looks like Mum! Don't cross that look!"

Ginny glared at her brother, and to the astonishment of Harry and Hermione, Ron ducked his head and refused to meet Ginny's gaze, his ears turning red.

She turned back to Harry.

"Okay, okay!" cried Harry. He pushed back the plate before him, and began to eat a slice of buttered toast. Best to keep it simple, if he wanted to keep it down.

Ginny watched him for a moment, eyes narrowed and one eyebrow raised. Suddenly, she grinned brightly and began her own breakfast.

The memorial would not be starting until 11 o'clock, and he was required to meet in Professor McGonagall's office beforehand. He excused himself from his friends and girlfriend, after Ginny had watched him down three slices of toast with an eagle eye.

Waiting in McGonagall's office was what appeared to be a small crowd of people, that Harry could only assume to be giving speeches as well. He located Professor McGonagall standing in a far corner, talking with Kingsley. Harry wound his way through the crowd, deliberately ignoring the whispered that started as he walked past.

"Potter," McGonagall greeted, "You're late."

"Ginny wouldn't let me leave until I had eaten a decent breakfast," he muttered, slightly abashed.

"Well of course," said Kingsley smoothly. "We couldn't have you passing out on stage, now could we?"

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Harry grumbled.

"Because we are merely looking out for your wellbeing," said Kingsley.

Harry stared up into Kingsley's face, and was reassured by the calm look that seemed to radiate in waves from the Minister for Magic.

"So who else is giving speeches? Do I know any of them?" asked Harry, keen to change the subject.

"Other than the three of us, only two others are giving speeches," said McGonagall. She correctly interpreted Harry's look of confusion, and continued. "This room is crowded because they are all involved in the Memorial Service. There is much more than simply speeches, Potter."

"Oh."

"Yes," Kingsley spoke, his slow voice in complete contrast to the Headmistress. "The other speakers will be Cornelius Fudge – he should be around here somewhere – and Professor John Dawlish."

"Dawlish?" asked Harry, thunderstruck.

"Yes," Kingsley nodded, "Dawlish was with the Aurors last year, and he has an in depth perspective of the way the Aurors fought the war."

"But you were an Auror too! You would know the in-depths as much as him!"

"But I am speaking as an Auror from the Order of the Phoenix."

"Harry," McGonagall interrupted, "There's nothing you can do, he _will_ be speaking."

Harry tore his eyes away from his Headmistress, and his eyes fell on the old, patchy hat, placed high on a bookshelf, out of reach of prying, curious hands. It did not look any worse for wear, despite being set on fire atop Neville's head.

At that moment, Cornelius Fudge and Dawlish wandered over, and struck up a conversation with McGonagall and Kingsley. Dawlish kept shooting Harry subtle smirks, expressions that clearly read 'let the big adults talk now, go run off with your swords and tents'.

"Ah, Harry," said Cornelius, twisting his green bowler hat between his fingers nervously, "I have barely seen you at all, at least before my office as Minister ended, you must come into the Ministry more often, you know." He gave an odd chuckle, and Harry merely stared back, disgusted the man could even suggest the idea, especially since Harry's refusal of Scrimgeour's offer in sixth year.

"Cornelius," rumbled Kingsley, "You know as well as I that Scrimgeour didn't succeed when he asked Harry the first time, I highly doubt Harry would reconsider."

Harry shot Kingsley a grateful look, and Kingsley made a half-wink in return.

"Yes, Minister, you're right, of course you're right, how silly of me," gabbled Fudge.

Harry was unimpressed with the former Minister; he seemed to have had better days, the loss of his Ministerial role obviously taking its toll. The robes were made of finest silk, but they were ruffled and slightly out of place. The small man had a hint of stubble on his pasty face, although Harry thought the pallor could be because of the upcoming speeches. Fudge's hair was dull and flat, even the bits that had escaped the wrath of hat-hair.

The time drew on, and when there was half an hour left until the actual Memorial started, McGonagall began to herd those who remained in her office down to the small stage outside, in front of the lake and a bit beyond the grave of Albus Dumbledore.

It was a sunny day, but cool, so there were rows and rows upon rows of chairs, facing the stage and the lake, away from the glare of the sun.

The stage was quite small, a foot or so high, with a podium at the front. There were five chairs along the back edge of the stage, which Harry could only assume that would be where he and the other speakers would be sitting.

At the same time as the group reached the stage, the first guests arrived, many students from the castle, and visitors and residents coming through the front gates from Hogsmeade.

The guests settled, and Harry searched the crowd for his friends, and found them near the back: Ron and Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Neville and Hagrid. For once, Hagrid had managed to sit on the seat made especially for him; there were no squashed and splintered chairs at all.

Professor McGonagall stepped up to the podium, and the sombre crowd immediately quietened.

"Thank you all for coming out to such a momentous occasion. Today marks the one year anniversary of the death of the Dark Lord Voldemort, the wizard tyrant who terrified us all for over two decades, and spanning two wars."

A collective shudder rippled through the crowd as the headmistress spoke Voldemort's name. Harry saw Hermione roll her eyes.

"We are here to remember the fallen, in the first and second war, and remember the sacrifices they made so that one day, our world would one day be free of fear and oppression. It was on this day that Harry Potter defeated Tom Riddle, in the Great Hall, with a mere Disarming spell."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Yet again, the spotlight was on him.

"The Battle of Hogwarts will always be remembered as the final conflict, the fight that included members of the Order of the Phoenix, students that were of age, centaurs, hippogriffs, house-elves, acromantula, giants, dementors, Death Eaters, ministry employees and many more, and none were without losses.

"I was Head of Gryffindor House and Transfiguration teacher, and the year Voldemort took over Hogwarts was a struggle for us all. Death Eaters had infiltrated the school, and classes were never the same. Teachers were supposed to direct students to detention with the Carrow siblings, and were often subject to beatings and extended time under the Cruciatus Curse.

"There was rebellion amongst the students, but they could go only so far. The best we could do was continue to look after the students to our best ability, and keep their hopes up, which was a harder task as the year went on. Students would disappear under our noses, kidnapped by Death Eaters, and we would never hear of them again. Muggleborns were taken the moment they set foot in the school.

"By May 2nd, our hopes were dying. It had been almost a year, but Harry Potter was still not captured, and everyone knew of his escape from the Malfoy Manor at Easter. There was another rumour circulating the school that he and his friends had escaped Gringotts on the back of a dragon, and it was barely a few hours later that I found Harry Potter in Ravenclaw Tower. It was here that the Battle of Hogwarts started; Voldemort finally knew where Harry was. The memory of the Battle will forever be imprinted in my brain, and those who died will forever be a part of me.

"Today, we have speaking for us, a variety of different resources. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, Auror, and member of the Order of the Phoenix, Cornelius Fudge, John Dawlish, Auror during the war and teacher out of the war, and Harry Potter."

McGonagall stepped down from the podium, and Kingsley immediately took her place.

"During the war," Kingsley started, "as an Auror, we were expected to follow the Ministry without hesitation, with unswerving loyalty. But as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, I knew the Ministry had been infiltrated, and I stayed in the background scenes as much as possible. I sent out fake leads for the locations of "undesirables" such as Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. I was part of an undercover pirate radio station, named Potterwatch."

A murmur ran through the crowd, as many recognised the name, guilty of listening to the station just to hear accurate news not influenced by Voldemort.

"Many of you would have known me as 'Royal.'"

Louder noise rippled through the crowd again.

"I arrived at Hogwarts to find the school in a state of warfare, and I was immediately swarmed with tasks to defend the castle. I watched many friends die."

Kingsley's soft voice broke slightly on the last word, but he did not cry, his facade did not change. Many in the audience had succumbed to tears, and Harry could see Hermione leaning into Ron, covering her face in an attempt to stop the tears. Ginny stared right back at Harry, her eyes glassy.

Kingsley continued to talk about his experiences of the war, and soon he stepped off the podium, to be replaced by Fudge.

Fudge stood at the podium and took his hat off, rolling it between his fingers.

"As you all know, I am Cornelius Fudge, ex-Minister for Magic."

Harry rolled his eyes ever so slightly.

"For a year after You-Know-Who had returned, I denied it. I did everything possible to slander Harry Potter and Dumbledore, because I refused to believe he was back. I made a grave mistake, and I probably cost lives, as well as support. I wanted to be Minister in happy times; I didn't want to face the threat of such a scandal as You-Know-Who returning. I was replaced by the Head Auror of the time, Rufus Scrimgeour. I became an advisor to the Minister, and continued to advise even after he was replaced by Pius Thicknesse.

"It was a long time obvious that something was wrong in the year leading up to the Battle, many laws made by the Minister Thickness were harsh and unlike any policy the Ministry had seen before. Employees barely dared to whisper about these changes, as every day, witches and wizards were rounded up for treason, or for being Muggleborn. It was all I could do to keep silent and support the Minister.

"I did not play a large role in the war, and I regret those who died to stop it."

Harry stared as Fudge walked away from the podium. All Fudge had talked about was how hard he had tried to keep support and stay alive, and stay on the winning side. Really, what could he expect?

Dawlish approached the podium, and Harry almost groaned. As if knowing what Harry almost did, Dawlish smirked at him before he started speaking.

"I'm John Dawlish; I was an Auror during the war. To me, I believe that the Aurors played the biggest part. We were the ones who defended the wizards and witches, and we were the ones who were called to the houses under the Dark Marks, and to escort dangerous prisoners to Azkaban."

Dawlish continued on this train for a while, and Harry tuned out in disgust. Dawlish thought the Aurors played the most important role? Escorting 'dangerous' Muggleborns to Azkaban?

"... Many of the Aurors battled against Death Eaters every now and again, and we worked tirelessly to discover the location of the Dark Lord..."

_And yet it was right under their noses the whole time, in Wiltshire,_ thought Harry.

Eventually, once Dawlish had stopped talking about himself, it was Harry's turn to speak. He shuffled over to the podium, his stomach rolling around. He cleared his throat nervously. His eyes fell on Ginny, and he felt the butterflies vanish. If he spoke to Ginny, everything would be alright.

"As you all know, I'm Harry Potter. My life was shaped by Voldemort ever since I was born. My parents went into hiding to escape him, but he eventually found them. I lived with my Aunt and Uncle for 10 years before I found out I was a wizard. When Voldemort returned, he continued to hunt me down, determined to finish what he thought of as the only person who could have the power to defeat him. What he didn't know, however, was that it was he who gave me that power.

"Tom Riddle gave me the motivation to do everything in my power to protect those I loved. He murdered my family, my friends, and tortured them too. From the power and devotion of my mother's love, I was given the strength to do for my friends and loved ones what she did for me."

Harry spoke directly to Ginny, and he could see that she had finally succumbed to tears.

"During the war, I was given a mission by Dumbledore. It would be only after I finished this task, that I could then defeat Riddle. I remained in hiding, out of contact with everyone except my two best friends who accompanied me, and completed Dumbledore's mission. My mission brought me to Hogwarts, and the war followed me there.

"I watched so many people die, so many friends. Sometimes I wonder if I could have ended it sooner, if I could have saved the lives of all those who died. I've spoken to parents, relatives, friends of those who fell, and in my heart, I know there was nothing I could have done."

For some reason, Harry felt a stinging at the back of his eyes, but he refused to acknowledge it.

"We all lost _so much_ in this war, but we still have each other. Never forget, never regret. The most important thing I ever learnt from Dumbledore was that _the dead we love never truly leave us, and we can recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble_. Remember who you are and stand up for what you believe in, because you never know when that belief will be tested. Remember those who died for their beliefs."

Harry looked down at the small podium, his hands clutched at the edges. His squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, and then looked back at the audience. Hagrid was blowing his nose noisily into a large hanky, but so were many others.

"Thank you."

He stepped back, and McGonagall took his place. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes and took a large breath before she began to talk. She had in her hands a long scroll, and it was from this that she began reading out loud.

Harry walked back to his seat numbly.

"Over fifty witches and wizards died at the Battle of Hogwarts, and so many more that died in the First War, and leading up to the Final Battle. I will now read out the names of all those who could not be with us today.

"Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes, Benjy Fenwick, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Edgar Bones, Amelia Bones, Broderick Bode, Dirk Cresswell, Caradoc Dearborn, James and Lily Potter..."

At the mention of his parents, Harry hung his head, finally surrendering to the tears that had threatened since the speeches began. He looked at his knees through blurry eyes.

"...Florean Fortescue, Bathilda Bagshot, Rufus Scrimgeour, Alastor Moody, Bartemius Crouch Senior, Emmeline Vance, Bertha Jorkins, Charity Burbage, Severus Snape..."

There was a stirring of mutterings at the mention of the former Potions Master, and it was obvious that not everyone believed Harry's testament that he was a double agent for the Order of the Phoenix.

Harry gave a sudden start, raising his head from his hands as an arm encircled his shoulders.

Ginny whispered in his ear, "You shouldn't be comforted only be yourself," as she knelt there, arms wrapped around him. Harry wordlessly returned the hug, as McGonagall continued reading.

"...Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Ted Tonks, Albus Dumbledore, Cedric Diggory, Colin Creevey, Fred Weasley..."

Ginny gave a small sob into his shoulder, and Harry squeezed her tighter.

"... And all the unnamed muggles, goblins, centaurs, hippogriffs, house-elves, all those who died for the world we live in now. Please, a minutes silence for the fallen."

McGonagall bowed her head, but raised her wand. From the very tip, a soft light was emitted. Harry watched in awe as every single witch and wizard raised their wand with their heads bowed, remembering the fallen. Harry hastily raised his wand and lowered his head. Ginny buried her face in his neck.

The silence was sombre and peaceful, not even broken by someone blowing their nose. The wind was still, not even birds could be heard from the Forbidden Forest. The absolute silence seemed to echo around the grounds of Hogwarts.

The moment passed, and McGonagall turned to the audience once again. She waved her wand, and to the right of the stage a glimmering monument appeared on the edge of the lake. It was made of grey marble, and its base rose seven feet off the ground. The base was covered in a large plaque, and it listed every single name of every witch and wizard who had died as a result of the wars caused by Lord Voldemort. On top of the base was a statue of a beautifully carved phoenix standing on lightning bolt, made of the same grey stone as the rest of the monument.

The crowd gasped in awe, and Harry blushed as he realised the subtle tribute to him, to Dumbledore's Army, to Dumbledore, and the Order of the Phoenix.

"It's beautiful," whispered Ginny beside him.

Slowly, everyone crowded towards the monument, to pay their respects, to touch a name of a relative, a friend, a lover. When Ginny and Harry approached, Ginny waved her wand and a bunch of beautiful white lilies appeared out of thin air. Ginny grabbed them and placed them at the base of the monument. As the let others in, they waited for Ron and Hermione, before heading back to the castle together.

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><p>So what did you think? Was the speech ok? Pretty please review? I'll love you forever...<p>

If you want to see my visualisation of the monument, it's on my deviantart website... the link will be on my profile


	13. Chapter 13

a/n: one more chapter after this to go guys! yayy!

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><p>The feast that night was of a sombre mood, with black drapes in memory of the fallen. The guests had left the grounds of Hogwarts, except a special few, namely Kingsley Shacklebolt and Cornelius Fudge.<p>

Many students were astounded and awed that Harry and his friends were on a first name basis with the Minister for Magic, as Harry discovered when Kingsley came over to chat.

"Harry, fantastic speech you gave, didn't get a chance to see you afterwards. Where did you disappear?"

"Sorry," Harry apologised. "There was an after party in the Gryffindor Common Room."

"I see," said Kingsley. "And of course, any excuse is a good excuse to see your old Common Room, and spend time with your girlfriend?" Kingsley's face remained impassive, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.

"Er – "

"That better have been the reason," Ginny teased from beside Harry.

Harry blushed.

"Just say yes," Ron whispered conspiratorially.

Kingsley laughed jovially, and the small group quickly joined.

"But why are you staying here for dinner, Kingsley? Won't you get bogged down with work the longer you stay?" asked Hermione, confused.

"Yes," said Kingsley promptly. "That's exactly why I'm still here. I'm delaying going back to the pile of work waiting for me on my desk."

"But the pile will only get larger the longer you put it off!" Hermione reproved.

"You sound like my secretary, Hermione. Shh, and eat your roast beef," complained Kingsley, rolling his eyes.

Hermione let out an involuntary giggle.

"Well, I best head back to the Teacher's table, I don't want Minerva scolding me..."

And with that, Kingsley turned around and strolled back to his own table, ignoring the stares from some of the more obvious first years. As soon as he was out of earshot, Harry and friends were bombarded with questions, most of which they answered tiredly. Ernie Macmillan even came over from the Hufflepuff table to ask his own questions.

The feast was soon over, and everyone was marched back to their own Houses.

Harry called in an early night. The whole day had been tiring and emotionally exhausting. He had to dodge Seamus and Dean as they tried to wrangle him for one last butterbeer before bed, and even avoid Neville as he tried to cram a Canary Cream down his throat.

He lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. It was a year to the day that he had defeated Voldemort, a year to the day that he no longer felt that he had to look over his shoulder no matter where he went, he no longer had to live in fear for himself and those around him.

The world was moving on, adapting, adjusting. There had been no one unaffected by the war, whether they lost loved ones, or were simply forced out of business by lack of fearing customers or Death Eaters.

When the rest of his dorm mates came up to bed a few hours later, he pretended to be asleep. It wasn't until he himself was almost drifting off in the dark room, listening to Zabini snoring, that he remembered he hadn't taken his potion. Still in the dark, he grabbed his wand and muttered the counter-locking spell, and fumbled around blindly for the small vial.

He unstoppered it, tipped it down his throat, redid the enchantments, and was asleep in seconds.

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><p>With the anniversary behind them, the seventh and eighth years had only one week of classes left, the following two weeks given to spend time revising. It was a relief to finally finish classes, because it meant no longer struggling to hand in worthless papers of revision assignments<p>

However the downside to no classes and no teachers breathing down their neck meant that Hermione now breathed down Harry and Ron's necks. It also meant that with her cracking the whip behind them, Harry's time with Ginny was cut drastically short, as she had to study for her own NEWTs as well.

Hermione finally let Harry have a night off, and he crept out of the eighth year Common Room with his head bowed. He felt like a criminal, while everyone had their heads buried over desks and stacks of books and piles of notes. Ron glared at him from his corner with Hermione. She had seen no reason for him to spend the night off, because he got to see her when they were studying. And she would rather study than waste time, since NEWTs were now so close.

Harry met Ginny in a corridor in between their Common Rooms.

"Any plans?" she asked brightly as he approached her.

Harry flushed slightly. "Not really," he shrugged, "but there was one thing I wanted to do first..."

She looked at him expectantly. Harry grinned and bent his head, searching for her lips. He felt heat rise in Ginny's cheeks as he brushed his lips down her face, finally reaching those oh-so-sacred, beautiful lips. He wrapped his arms around her and she slid hers around his waist, pulling him closer, melding them together. Ginny opened her mouth slightly, and their breaths mingled. Harry breathed in the familiar scent.

"I love you," he whispered.

"Love you more," she replied, grinning.

Harry nuzzled her nose with his own. "Come on," he said. He grabbed her by the hand and dragged her back in the direction he had come.

"Where are we going?" she laughed, stumbling after him.

"Well... I wanted to see... Can't believe I never checked..."

"Checked what?"

He pulled her around another corner, up some stairs, through a tapestry that led to a hidden staircase. He stopped abruptly outside the large tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to train trolls for the ballet. He faced the opposite wall.

"The Room of Requirement?" asked Ginny, confused, "But isn't it – "

"Destroyed?" Harry finished. He shrugged. "No idea. Let's find out."

He gave her a brief grin, and then paced three times in front of the bare patch of wall. Nothing appeared, no door. Harry frowned, and paced twice more, almost glaring at the blank wall in concentration.

"Harry..."

Ginny reached for his arm, but at that moment, he let out a gleeful yell.

Slowly, as though through great effort, a large, antique door appeared.

Once it was fully formed, Harry wrenched opened the door and peaked inside. Before Ginny could follow, he pulled his head back and grinned at her.

"Eyes closed," he commanded.

Ginny narrowed his eyes. What was he playing at?

"Close them, please?"

Ginny stared into his puppy dog eyes, so eager to please, and she complied with a deliberate eye roll, but a smile was pulling at her lips. She closed her eyes, and she felt his lips brush hers, just for a moment.

She heard the door open again, and then Harry gently took her by the hand and led her into the room.

"Don't open them yet," he murmured over his shoulder.

He pulled her further into the room.

"There!" said Harry triumphantly.

Ginny took this as her clue to open her eyes, and she gasped in surprise.

The room, although obviously still only forming the details slowly, was lit only by candlelight. The two candles were on a table in the middle of the room, and it was set up with all the finery of a romantic date. The rest of the room was forming romantic red drapes, and Ginny could have sworn she could have heard the soft noise of a violin somewhere.

"You've forgotten the food," she said sceptically, fighting to keep her head.

"Ah, but I haven't," he grinned broadly, and Ginny felt herself melt a little inside.

"Kreacher," he called softly.

With a _pop_, Harry's house-elf appeared. Turning to Harry, he bowed low, nose almost scraping the ground.

"Master has summoned Kreacher and Kreacher is so happy to please his Master. But Master is with the Weasley girl..."

Kreacher eyed Ginny from his bow, to her it almost felt like the eyes of a parent, deciding whether or not she was worthy to be Harry's girlfriend.

Harry grinned. "Kreacher, is the meal ready? Can you please bring it up?"

Kreacher straightened from his bow and his eyes slid back to Harry. "Of course, Master. Kreacher has done everything just as Master requested."

Kreacher fingered a strange locket that Ginny didn't recognise; it was large, and hung almost down to his waist. He vanished with another _pop_.

"He's changed," said Ginny, confused.

Harry smiled, and pulled out her chair for her. "Yeah, he got to know us better when we stayed at Grimmauld Place after Bill's wedding..."

"Is that where he got the locket?"

"Yeah, it belonged to Sirius' brother, Regulus. Kreacher helped us greatly, so I gave it to him."

Harry moved and sat opposite his girlfriend.

"You _gave_ him a Black heirloom?"

"He cried for half an hour," grinned Harry.

They were interrupted as Kreacher returned. He served each of them a bowl of pumpkin soup, and poured them some wine.

"Thank you, Kreacher," said Ginny kindly. Kreacher gave her a deep bow, and vanished again.

"Wine?" asked Ginny, one eyebrow cocked.

"I figured it was more romantic," Harry shrugged. "More so than pumpkin juice, anyway... You don't mind, do you?" he asked, a little anxious.

Ginny considered stringing him a long a bit, but such effort put in front of her, and around her, stopped her.

"It's lovely," she said, covering one of his hands with hers. "Now tell me how you made Kreacher be nice..."

And so Harry launched into Kreacher's transformation, about the origins of the locket.

Harry took a deep breath, and slowly began to fill Ginny into more details about his year away. The break-in to the Ministry. Ron leaving, the trip to Godric's Hollow. Destroying the horcrux. Seeing Xenophilius Lovegood, and escaping Malfoy Manor. He told her about the Deathly Hallows, the break in to Gringotts to find the next horcrux. How Hermione and Ron destroyed the goblet, their kiss.

Kreacher appeared again at one point to serve dinner, then again for desert, occasionally topping up a wine glass every now and then.

She already knew much of what they had been up to, she had a vague insight to his side of the Battle of Hogwarts. She didn't know what had happened to the Room of Requirement, or how Snape died.

He didn't tell her about finding the ring in the snitch, but he did tell her about Snape's memories, and the walk down to the forest.

He told her about meeting Dumbledore.

"You_ died_?" she gasped.

Harry didn't meet her gaze. "You were one of my last thoughts, if it's any consideration..."

"_You died_?" Ginny glared at him disbelievingly.

He explained how he had survived, with the power of his mother's blood, and how he was a horcrux, but Ginny still looked sceptical. Or paranoid. Or confused, or hurt, or awed. He couldn't tell.

Harry sighed and shifted nervously in his seat. He hooked his robe off his shoulders and began unbuttoning his school shirt.

Ginny blushed slightly, but he had already stopped the buttons and was pulling impatiently at the fabric.

Ginny tried to ignore the flashes of her boyfriend's chest, but she realised that was what she was supposed to be looking at. Right in the centre of his collarbone was a small, circular scar, but that wasn't what he was showing her. A bit further down, right above his heart, was a lightning bolt scar, identical to the one on his forehead.

Ginny gasped again and stretched out a hand to the scar. She lightly traced it, trying to ignore her flush at how close she was to Harry. On a whim, or maybe it was the wine, she moved around the table, and kissed it.

Harry sighed loudly.

The rest of the night, Ginny told Harry her side of their year apart. What she, Neville and Luna got up to, Dumbledore's Army, opposing the Carrows. What she did in the Battle of Hogwarts. They ended up on a cosy red couch that had at sometime formed in the corner of the room, snuggling against one another.

Finally, when the candles on the table eventually extinguished, they left. Harry walked her back to the Gryffindor Tower, and kissed her goodnight.

The kiss was filled with so much more than a temporary goodbye; it was filled with all the memories and experiences shared that night, the love and the sadness.

Harry walked back to West Tower in his own little world, a little buzz ringing in his ears. He was happy, he was alive, he was in love.

Only briefly, when he collapsed onto his bed, did he wish that he could fall asleep instantly without the aid of potions.

* * *

><p>Exams were finally upon them, and Harry felt a small relief to know they were similarly set out to how his OWLs were done. Theory in the morning, practical tests in the afternoon. Harry was glad he now only had five subjects. The exams were spread out over a two week period, and he had three in the first week and two in the second.<p>

Hermione was running Harry and Ron almost ragged; she had them studying before breakfast, during lunch, and for a few hours after dinner.

"She's scary when she's like this..." Ron had confided one day after being woken up before six o'clock in the morning for a revision of Potions.

Harry had merely raised his eyebrows, as if to say, _isn't she always_?

The morning of the first exam day, Transfiguration, Hermione let the boys sleep until the last possible moment before breakfast, claiming a sleepy mind was a failing mind. Harry and Ron agreed, merely glad they weren't studying at insane hours of the morning.

Once at breakfast, however, they felt a little different, and most definitely not hungry, faced with the prospect of deciding their life choices with the results of these exams. With Ginny and Hermione badgering them, they all downed enough food to make it through the exams.

After, all they eighth years and the seventh years milled outside the Great Hall, as it was transformed from breakfast hall to exam room. The fifth years would be using it for their OWLs on alternating days.

Professor McGonagall eventually opened the doors, and they were silently ushered to small tables with their names on.

"You may now... begin." Said McGonagall from the front of the room. She waved her wand, and a large egg timer appeared, the sand rushing through a lot faster than Harry thought it should.

McGonagall and two of the examiners paced the rows of students, keeping an eye out for cheating.

Harry recognised them from his fifth year, Professor Tofty and Professor Marchbanks. He bent his head to the paper in front of him and looked at the first question.

_Describe the incantation and wand movements required to transfigure oneself into an innate object. Use diagram if necessary (2 marks)._

His glasses slipped to the edge of his nose and he pushed them back impatiently. He began to write.

By the time McGonagall had called the halfway point of the exam, Harry was starting to feel eternally grateful to Hermione for forcing them to study so much. Apparently, it paid off.

That afternoon was, again, much the same as OWLs. The seventh and eighth years waited outside the hall and waited for their names to be called. They were often called in groups, and Harry wished Hermione luck as she was called in with Anthony Goldstein, Daphne Greengrass, and some seventh years Harry didn't know. The hall of waiting people was dead silent; no one was talking, or trying to get in some last minute revision. The sound of someone tapping their foot could be heard across the room and the impatience was infectious.

Finally, Harry was called in with Padma and Parvati Patil, Pansy Parkinson and one seventh year. He made his way to a free examiner, and once again found himself in front of Professor Tofty.

"Ah, Mr Potter, glad to see you taking your NEWTs! Heard from the Minister that you didn't need to!"

"Er, yeah..." said Harry, smiling nervously.

"Oh, now nothing to worry about, nothing to worry about! Could you please, my dear boy, transfigure yourself into a goat?"

Harry gave a nervous glance, he hadn't transfigured himself into a goat before, what if he messed it up? He'd only ever transfigured himself into a dog...

He gulped, and met Tofty's eyes. He took a breath and muttered the incantation, turning into a large brown billy goat, before turning himself back.

"Well done Mr Potter! Now try one of those desks you sat your theory test on..."

Harry came out of the exam room a little while later, feeling that he may have passed the practical test very well, hopefully. He met up with Hermione and they waited for Ron and Ginny to finish. Hermione tried talking to him about his theory test, but Harry simply reminded her about his and Ron's policy to not discuss exams afterwards.

She gave him a grumpy look, before settling into silence and resting her head on his shoulder, eyes closed.

Dinner was a subdued affair, the seventh and eighth year students mentally exhausted.

The next day, minus the before breakfast routine, thank Merlin, was an intense day of studying to prepare for the Herbology exam the following day. House-elves were under strict instruction not to bring eighth years any food, however. They were all expected to turn up to meals in the Great Hall, to give them a break. At this announcement, Hermione almost pulled her hair out in frustration.

"How are we supposed to study if we waste time eating in the Great Hall?" she all but shrieked.

Ron and Harry dragged her down; claiming they couldn't function without food.

The next morning again saw them waiting outside the Great Hall as it became the exam room. They were settled down, and this time it was Professor Flitwick who turned the great hourglass instead of McGonagall.

Harry pushed the heel of his hands into his eyes. Herbology seemed much harder than Transfiguration had; he was required to have detailed descriptions and many diagrams in an effort to describe the effects of certain poisons from certain plants, or how to deal with a Venomous Tentacula, or the best way to take a pod from a Snargaluff stump.

By the end of it, he thought he had done a decent job.

After lunch, they all trudged down to the greenhouses, where they all waited in turn to be called. Although it was almost June, the weather was not all that pleasant, and many students cast Warming Charms on themselves. This was also seen as a non-cheating advantage: going into the practical exam without numb or cold or clammy fingers could mean better concentration and less chance to drop something foolishly. Harry noted with some consternation that Neville seemed to be brimming with confidence; after all, this _was_ his forte.

Once Harry was inside the warm glasshouse, he immediately spotted Professor Marchbanks standing next to a Snargaluff stump. Harry groaned internally, and made his way over to her.

"I simply want you to retrieve a pod for me, Mr Potter," she said, "You may use any means, you may use your wand. Ready?"

Harry nodded nervously, and dove towards the stump.

Almost immediately, it sprung into life, vines waving everywhere as Harry attempted to complete the task. One whipped past his cheek, and by the sting, he knew the damned vine had broken skin.

Stepping back, he took a breath, wondering how he could do this by himself. The vines vanished and it turned into an ordinary stump again. Last time, Ron and Hermione had been with him, and that was way back in sixth year. He stepped close again, and the vines immediately woke up. He stepped back. Suddenly Harry had a flash of memory.

He watched in his mind's eye a large tree flailing about and trying to take out its visitors, back in third year. He remembered watching himself go down beneath the tree with Hermione, following Ron. And then Remus had followed them... by immobilising the tree...

Harry approached the stump again, and as it sprung into life, Harry cried "_Immobulus_!"

The vines froze, as if dazed. Harry darted in close again and pulled out a pod. Or three. He handed his prize over to Professor Marchbanks, and she gave him a tight smile, not giving anything away, but Harry could tell she was pleased: her eyes sparkled.

Harry was given several more tasks, and finally he was sent out, Herbology finished.

He met Hermione in the Great Hall and together they waited for Ron and Ginny to finally turn up.

"Do you really have to have your name so far down the roster?" complained Harry, "My stomach has practically eaten itself..."

Ginny glared at him, her eyes glinting. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she relented on the death glare.

"One more this week..." said Ron, stretching his arms in front of him.

"But there's still two more after that! We can't get complacent!" Hermione snapped. The rest of the group refrained from commenting, deciding they rather liked being in one piece.

The next day was a break from exams, but not a break from revision, and it passed uneventfully.

On the final day of the first exam week, Harry had his Potions exam. It was one he both dreaded and anticipated. Under the tuition of Slughorn for the year, and no looming presence of Snape in the background, Harry felt he might do alright in this subject. However, years of never learning much under Snape could not break that habit of mind, so he dreaded the exam.

Once in, however, he was reassured the theory would not be too bad. The first question was, thank Merlin, easy.

_Describe the process to make a Polyjuice Potion, and the effects caused to the recipient (3 marks)._

Thinking back to all the times he had seen the potion in use, Harry smiled and began writing.

Much of the questions were along these lines, and Harry found it easy to describe many of the details required for different potions. He could remember the reasons why Amortentia was a banned substance at school, what Essence of Dittany was used for, how Veritaserum was brewed.

The practical test was a little harder; Harry had to create an antidote for an unknown poison given to him at the start. He was thankful that in the last year the Potions class had gone over this much more thoroughly than they had in sixth year.

Harry and Ron tried to skive off revision that night, as they had three days before their next exam, but Hermione would hear none of it. They worked solidly for all three days, only stopping for meals. Harry barely saw Ginny, but he knew she was studying as hard as he was.

Finally Tuesday approached, and it was Defence Against the Dark Arts this time.

Harry was proud of his efforts in the theory, he thought he had accurately described the creation of an Inferi, and how to get rid of them, although it had taken him a while to describe the creation, and he was unsure if he had made complete sense.

He was proud of his response with how to deal with Fiendfyre, sure that really, as long as he survived, he could handle the cursed fire.

The practical exam went fabulously, in Harry's opinion. He was most confident about the entire exam; it was his favourite and best subject. Although he should never get too cocky; that would result in over confidence and failure. So he spent the entire time in grim concentration, thinking everything through before he made decisions. Which was unusual, he admitted.

Early into his practical, he noted out the corner of his eye that Malfoy successfully produced a shield patronus, but that seemed to satisfy his examiner.

The Charms exam two days later was much the same, and Harry again felt confident that he had done the best he could, which he hoped was a good thing.

The night after the final exam was not filled with partying, but only relief, as exhaustion overtook most of the students, and they all collapsed into bed almost immediately after dinner.

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><p>I'm such a review-whore... Pretty please? :)<p> 


	14. Chapter 14

a/n: The final chapter! Sorry again for dragging it out, it was kind of like I didn't want it to end... I guess I'll have to satisfy myself with writing more stories! Mwahahahaha

Enjoy!

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><p>With the exams over, Professor McGonagall surprised the seventh and eighth years by reminding them of the Graduation Ceremony. It was a small, private affair, for only the family of those graduating and the graduates themselves. Harry was quite surprised, as he didn't recall any sort of graduation when he was in the younger year levels. Although, he supposed that could have been because he never listened to what Professor Dumbledore had said near the end of each year, or just because it had never really been broadcast.<p>

Harry asked Ron about it the day before their own graduation. Ron looked at his friend in confusion for a moment, before slowly saying, "Well yeah," as if it was startlingly obvious, "how are you supposed to get a decent job anywhere if you don't have an official graduation certificate?"

"Er..." said Harry, stymied.

"I even went to Bill and Charlie's when I was younger..." Ron mused.

"Oh..."

"Yeah it's a good thing we have one too, otherwise Hermione would be going spare from lack of actually having to do anything."

This confused Harry again. "But she's going spare anyway, trying to organise her valedictorian speech with Ernie..."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Harry, but could you imagine what she would be like if all three of us had nothing to do? We wouldn't have a moment's rest, and exams only just finished!"

"Point," said Harry, and they moved on to talk about slightly less confusing topics.

The ceremony would be held on the day before they were due to leave on the train, and according to Hermione, it was much like a Muggle Graduation Ceremony. It was simply just a few speeches from select people, name calling and then walking across the stage, and a photo of shaking hands with the Minister for Magic and the Headmistress.

The morning of the ceremony dawned nice and relaxed for the senior students of Hogwarts. Unless, of course, your name was Hermione Granger and Ernie MacMillan. Ernie seemed content with Hermione taking control of the organisation and preparations, except when she got him out of bed hours earlier than Harry or Ron even bothered to look at their alarm clocks.

Eventually though, the seventh and eighth year students found themselves lined up in alphabetical order outside the entrance to the Great Hall, where they were soon ushered in to seats at the front of the room, facing a small stage. On the stage were four chairs occupied by Professor McGonagall, Hermione, Ernie and Kingsley Shacklebolt. The house tables were gone, replaced by row upon row of small, uncomfortable seats.

"Do they not want us to fall asleep or something?" muttered an irate Ron as he tried to fit his lanky form in the space provided.

Harry merely shrugged as he made his way several rows ahead of Ron and Ginny. It really was a lovely day for the last day at Hogwarts, Harry reflected. The enchanted ceiling showed a clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight, as the warm sun beat down on the castle outside. Harry could see in his mind's eye all the younger students, outside, relaxing by the lake, playing with the Giant Squid, even a few Muggleborn students playing football on a wide patch of grass.

The family of the students were filed into the Hall, and they occupied the seats at the back, behind the students.

Once it was clear everyone was settled, quietly gossiping amongst one another, Professor McGonagall stepped up to the podium on stage, and silence fell.

"Thank you all for coming here today to support your sons and daughters as they step out into the world we have all helped create," the headmistress began.

"It has been a long journey, for you as well as me, and for the eighth year students, even longer. We are here today and able to celebrate this occasion because for the first time in several years, we all have hope. We are here because the Dark Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters were defeated, and we can now safely hold our heads high and look to the future with hope. So, before we begin the actual part of the ceremony, I would like everyone, students, teachers, parents and friends, to bow their heads for but a moment, to remember. Remember those students who couldn't be here today, because their life was cut premature; remember those teachers that are not here to see the life's work flourish, remember those parents who can't be here to watch with pride as their son or daughter takes hold of their future."

Harry bowed his head. Such a speech was not entirely unexpected, but it was depressing, just the same. He thought of Colin Creevey, who should have just completed his seventh year, of Severus Snape, who should have been contemptuous and dismissive as Harry made his way across the stage. He even thought of Hannah Abbott's mother, who was found dead in Harry's sixth year, now never to watch her daughter graduate.

The moment finished, and Professor McGonagall continued her speech.

"I have watched so many of these young students grow into the young adults they are today, as a teacher, as the Gryffindor Head of House, and finally, as the Headmistress. I can hardly believe it to be seven and eight years since I called the names of shy eleven year olds one by one and placed the Sorting Hat on their heads. It astounded me back then, and it continued to astound me, as they all grew up and made their mark on the school, from trouble-making, detentions, to nervous breakdowns around exams, to surprising grades and not-so-surprising grades.

"Now, these young students must step out into the real world, hold jobs, please their bosses and make a stand for what they believe in. They will no longer by Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws or Slytherins, but Hogwarts graduates who must learn, from scratch and all over again, what it means to be in today's Wizarding society. They will find jobs at the Ministry with law enforcement, or at a newspaper as a journalist, at St Mungo's, at Gringotts, and local shops and pubs, on a Quidditch field, only to start from the very bottom all over again.

"Today we have speaking only three other people. Our Head Boy, Ernie MacMillan, our Head Girl, Hermione Granger, and the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. So now, please welcome the Head Boy to the podium."

There was a smattering of applause as Ernie stood up and cleared his throat nervously.

"Well, this is finally the end, isn't it?" he started, an awkward smile briefly gracing his features. He cleared his throat once more, gave himself a sort of ruffle, straightened up, and continued much more confidently.

"It's been eight years, and I could never have guessed how everything would have turned out. I grew up watching my older cousins go to Hogwarts year after year, and so when I finally got my letter, my parents had to magically silence me, I wouldn't shut up about it for two weeks straight. And when I finally got here, it wasn't what I imagined. In fact, it was better. I made friendships that I never could have seen, and especially in this last year as an eighth year in the West Tower, mingling and associating with more students of my own age, from different houses, some that I had never even second-glanced at before.

"Throughout the years, we went through countless threats. From the Chamber of Secrets in my second year, to Dolores Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad in fifth year. In fifth year, I became a member of the notorious Dumbledore's Army, an illicit Defence Club under the nose of Umbridge and her Ministerial policies. This group broadened my friendships and strengthened the ones I had already made, and it taught me where I stood, long before I made the decision to participate in the Battle of Hogwarts."

Ernie continued on the same train for quite a while longer, his speech almost rivalling McGonagall's, his cheeks flushed pink with the pleasure of all the attention on him.

"... So the most important thing I learned throughout my stay at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is that the strength of friendships and love can determine the outcome of war, of life and death. Thank you."

Ernie stepped back, and Hermione quickly took his place. A wolf whistle rang across the silent Hall, without a doubt sourcing from George. Hermione blushed and sent a glare towards her boyfriend's brother, before shuffling her notes and beginning.

"Unlike Ernie, I am Muggleborn, and did not know of my abilities until Professor McGonagall knocked on my door on my eleventh birthday. I worried about what people would think of me, because I didn't have magical parents, so I tried to over compensate. I had read all of the first year textbooks by the time I reached Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and I wanted to show everyone that I could be just as good as them, or better. Unfortunately, this didn't help me get friends. I was friendless for my first two months at Hogwarts, and it wasn't until I lied to a group of teachers about how Ron Weasley, Harry Potter and I defeated a mountain troll that I managed to gain their respect enough to become their friend."

A small chuckle ran through the crowd, and Harry vividly remembered the aftermath of that occasion in the girls' bathroom, how Hermione would not leave their sides, and slowly began to help them with their homework.

"Without my friends, I would not have been able to grow into the person I am today. I could not have learned to relax or calm down before an exam, I would not have learned that friendship is the most valuable experience to gain. Without my friends, I never would have gotten a detention, never would have suggested brewing illegal potions or starting illicit Defence groups. I learned to stretch the limits of who I am, to accept myself, and I gained the confidence and self-assurance to fall in love."

Hermione blushed over the last few words, and Ron let out a whoop, to the amusement of the audience.

"Over the last eight years, I have stood by my friends, comforted my friends, been comforted by friends, and stood up against Voldemort and his Death Eaters numerous times. Now the teachers might say that education was the most important thing at Hogwarts, but I disagree, and so did Ernie. Friendship was the most important thing I learnt, along with self-acceptance. We may have learned a spell or two along the way, but we never really learn about ourselves until we push our limits. So I'd like to say thank you. Thank you to the teachers, thank you to my friends, because they are why I am here today."

The crowd clapped politely, and Hermione stepped back. Her speech was much shorter than Ernie's and Harry had therefore been able to pay attention the whole way through. He sighed as Kingsley stepped up next. Hopefully, his speech was short.

"Now I know you must all be impatient to get to the real stuff," said Kingsley in his slow, rumbling voice, "so I'm only here to talk about one important thing: the future."

He paused, and looked down at his notes. "The future is unpredictable, we never know when it will change, or threaten what we're doing, what we stand for. Many of us fought a war, and had no idea if we or our loved ones would survive. Now, you face different uncertainties. You will find yourself wondering, will I get that job? Do I have enough money for one more firewhiskey? Do I have enough time to visit my mum? The life you are all about to follow is no longer going to be sheltered by your parents, it's all about you stepping into your own future, making your own decisions, and being who _you_ are, and not what others want you to be. As the Minister for Magic, it is my job to say, welcome to the future, welcome to the beginning of your new life. Welcome to freedom to stay up as late as you want at night, free of assignments that make or break your grade. Thank you."

Kingsley concluded abruptly, and the applause was slow, as people realised laughed at his parting words before realising he had finished.

Professor McGonagall took to the stage again, and Harry slumped back in his chair, hoping she wouldn't start another huge speech. Harry was surprised and relieved as she merely thanked the speech-givers for their contribution, and began calling up the names of the graduating students.

Harry watched as Hannah Abbott made her way across the stage, shook hands with McGonagall and Kingsley, received her certificate and smiled into the camera of the photographer lingering just off the stage.

The list went on, the names called out, and Harry eventually made his way across the stage. He shook hands with Professor McGonagall, and was startled as she muttered "Good luck, Harry," before smiling him on to the Minister. Kingsley grinned at him and handed Harry his certificate, before saying "I'm assuming I'll be seeing you in two months time then."

Harry glanced up in surprise at the tall man, but McGonagall pushed her hand into his back and steered him towards the camera. A blinding flash later, and Harry was on his way. He met with Hermione and waited for Ron and Ginny to come through.

The Leaving Feast that night was rather spectacular, the Great Hall refurnished with the House Tables, and Gryffindor banners hanging from the ceiling and the walls. Thanks to their win of the Quidditch Cup, Gryffindor had scraped enough points to garner a victory.

The feast also held a small tinge of sadness, this was Harry's final night here, and he wouldn't be coming back to this place that he had seen as his home, far more than Privet Drive. He sat with his group of friends, Ginny's thigh pressing against his under the table, as he listened to Seamus and Dean argue about the benefits of firewhiskey and butterbeer.

It turned out, as Harry listened in, that Neville had applied for Auror training as well, which meant they would likely be together, if they both got in. Ginny would be heading off to a Hollyhead Harpies training camp only two weeks after school ended, for a month, and would not be back in time to see Harry and Neville off to the first day of Auror training.

Harry dug into his treacle tart, determined to make the best of the meal. There was no comparison to a Hogwarts treacle tart, so he had to make the most of it, savour every mouthful, and take all the slices he could find.

All too soon, the feast was over, cutlery scraping against empty plates. The students were dismissed and Harry, Ron and Hermione trudged back to the West Tower for some last minute packing.

"We're really leaving, aren't we?" said Ron, his tone wistful and subdued.

"Yeah," Hermione and Harry agreed together, their heads bowed.

The trio made their way back to their Common Room in silence.

The next morning, breakfast was quiet. No one wanted to leave what had been such a magical year, but at least most of them would be returning for another year.

It was a surprise when Hermione let out a squawk of outrage, quickly followed by Ron's loud guffaws.

"I can't believe – look at this, Harry," said Hermione, thrusting the day's edition of the _Daily Prophet_ at Harry. He was confused by the mixed expressions of incredulity and hilarity crossing her features, so he spread out the newspaper in front of him.

On the front cover was an awkward picture of him, obviously taken the night before. He held his certificate and his hand was still clasped by Kingsley, with McGonagall just lingering in the background, over his shoulder.

The large title above the picture read: _The Chosen One graduates – people ask, what now?_

Harry rolled his eyes. The article was by Rita Skeeter. Really, who else?

"_Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the defeater of Lord Voldemort, has finally graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We all wondered what the elusive man of the century would get up to_... blah blah blah..." Harry read aloud.

"_... Who faced prejudice and scorn for years, threatened by the very institute sworn to protect him... Defeater of Voldemort..._ She likes throwing that one around, doesn't she? ... _Talked to several year mates and friends of Mr Potter..."_

"Oh no," Ron groaned, "Who blabbed?"

"Wait," said Harry, "it gets better. Listen. ... _Good friend Lavender Brown states that Mr Potter wants to become a famous Quidditch player, and he is already known in Hogwarts as 'the best Seeker Gryffindor has ever seen,' however according to roommate Draco Malfoy, 'Potter wants to do nothing but merge into the Muggle world he so adores and vanish without a trace."_

"Really, when did she speak to Malfoy?" asked Hermione curiously.

Harry began to laugh as he continued to read aloud. "..._ Another close friend of the Chosen One, Luna Lovegood, says that the boy would like nothing more than to travel South America in search of the mysterious Crumple-Horned Snorkack, and has wanted to since he first heard or the creature in his fifth year. Whatever can be said about Harry Potter, there is no doubt he will astound his followers with whichever career path he may choose, and this writer hopes for the honour of getting down to the bottom of this, whether Quidditch player, Muggle or naturalist." _

"That's likely," Ron snorted. "Honestly, though, Luna? Isn't that _her_ life ambition?"

The article seemed to be the talk of the school, and Harry had to shake off hordes of first and second years as they milled around him, trying to get that last bit of attention from him, before he left to never return.

On the way to the train station, it seemed Hermione couldn't resist patting one of the thestrals, stroking her hand lightly down its skeletal neck, before getting on a carriage with Harry, Ron and Ginny.

On the train, Harry settled into a compartment, similarly occupied to what it was at the start of the year. Ron and Hermione had no need for Prefect duties, so they sat with him and Ginny, Neville and Luna.

"Great interview with Rita Skeeter, Luna," Ron smirked.

Luna looked up from reading her upside-down version of the _Quibbler_, her briefly meeting Ron's before she answered him.

"Oh yes," said Luna vaguely, "She remembered we were friendly when you gave that interview about the return of He Who Must Not Be Named, so she contacted me a few weeks ago."

"There's no harm in calling him Voldemort, you know Luna," said Hermione.

Luna's eyes slid over to the Head Girl and she softly said in a sing-song voice, "a name is a name is a name is a name," before immersing herself back into her magazine.

Harry snorted. Typical Luna.

After that, conversation drifted and slowed down, everyone staring out the window, hoping to get just that final glimpse of a train ride they would never take again.

Once off the train, on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Harry collected his trunk. He would be staying at the Weasley's again this summer, waiting until he got his acceptance letter to Auror training, and until he left. He separated slightly from the others as they pulled ahead with their luggage, and it was perhaps this reason that he heard his name being called from behind him.

"Potter."

Harry turned around, and a few paces behind him stood Malfoy, black robes buttoned tightly up to his neck, hair slicked back sharply, making his face look even more pointy. His trunk rested behind him.

"Malfoy," Harry acknowledged.

Looking a little hesitant, Malfoy shuffled forwards slightly. He bit his lip in seeming indecision and then thrust his hand out into the air between them.

"Truce, Potter."

Harry stared at the hand for a moment, reminiscing about the first time Malfoy had offered his hand. He wasn't entirely sure why Malfoy was bothering with suggesting a truce right now, they had gotten along alright in their final year, and now they wouldn't be sharing a dorm together. Although Harry had no idea what career path Malfoy was taking. Maybe he wanted to be an Auror, or maybe he just wanted to clear things up.

Harry reached over and grabbed Malfoy's pale hand. It was surprisingly soft.

"Truce, Malfoy."

Emerald green eyes stared into calculating grey eyes, and an unreadable, unvoiced message passed between the two.

The moment passed, and Malfoy dropped Harry's hand. He turned away and stalked over to his mother some distance away. Harry met Narcissa's gaze and she nodded briefly, before turning to her son.

Harry stared at his hand in wonderment, before turning back to the Weasley's, Ginny, and home.

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><p>Oh my God it really is over! Please review, I'll love you forever...<p> 


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